William Herbert Carruth


SOMEWHERE out West there lies a sloping plain
    That looks across the winding river track 
    A mile away to northward, bluish-black 
With elm and cottonwood, then up again
Rises to meet the distant sky. Green grain
    And greener grass in spring; if fall wheat stack 
    And pink brown prairie grass, stock at the rack, 
And marvels of sky this landscape doth contain.
Here was my dear one born and passed her days,
    Familiar with each bird and flower and tree, 
Light-hearted, supple-thewed, a boy in ways,
    Knew nature, music, books, but knew not me. 
How beautiful her youth! yet I confess,
The memory breeds in me strange loneliness. 

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