Quatrains of August


SHE bends, a woman, o’er the shrunken brook,
And reads her image, queenly grown and fair;
Yet dwells a wistful sadness in the look
That sees her vanished girlhood mirrored there.

II. Corn.

Drawn up in serried ranks across the fields
That, as we gaze, seem ever to increase,
With tasseled flags and sun-emblazoned shields,
The glorious army of earth’s perfect peace.

III. Dormant Bulbs.

Still damp with earth I hold them in my hand,
These things that were red tulips in the spring ;
And swift the thought we may not understand
Shoots through my brain and leaves me wondering.
Charles Washington Coleman.