By Theodosia Garrison
(In “Everybody’s Magazine.”)
Orchards in the Spring-time! Oh, I think and think of them—
Filmy mists of pink and white above the fresh, young green,
Lifting and drifting—how my eyes could drink of them!
I’m staring at a dirty wall behind a big machine.
Orchards in the Spring-time! Deep in soft, cool shadows,
Moving all together when the west wind blows
Fragrance upon fragrance over road and meadows—
I’m smelling heat and oil and sweat, and thick, black clothes.