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Poem by Hamlin Garland


In August


From the great trees the locusts cry
In quavering ecstatic duoa boy
Shouts a wild calla mourning dove
In the blue distance sobsthe wind
Wanders by, heavy with odors
Of corn and wheat and melon vines;
The trees tremble with delirious joy as the breeze
Greets them, one by onenow the oak
Now the great sycamore, now the elm.

And the locusts in brazen chorus, cry
Like stricken things, and the ring-dove's note
Sobs on in the dim distance.



Hamlin Garland


Hamlin Garland's other poems:
  1. The Toil of the Trail
  2. The Ute Lover
  3. The Meadow Lark
  4. A Tribute of Grasses
  5. Magic


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