Haymakers
As in former years
Rake rolls into heaps that the pitchfork rears;
Wheels crack
On the turfy track
The waggon pursues with its toppling pack.
“Why then shun—
Since summer’s not done—
All this because of the lack of one?”
Had you been
Sharer of that scene
You would not ask while it bites in keen
Why it is so
We can no more go
By the summer paths we used to know!
1913.
THE CLOCK OF THE YEARS
“A spirit passed before my face; the hair of my flesh stood up.”
And the Spirit said,
“I can make the clock of the years go backward,
But am loth to stop it where you will.”
And I cried, “Agreed
To that. Proceed:
It’s better than dead!”
He answered, “Peace”;
And called her up—as last before me;
Then younger, younger she freshed, to the year
I first had known
Her woman-grown,
And I cried, “Cease!—