“Spring crept over the purple hills,
Over the yellow, sun-baked sands.
No wild music of April rills,
But her hands,
Slim and wanton and softly white,
Waved in the windy, cloudless night.
Spring danced over the cactus plains,
Vaguely tender in timid green,
Veiled in the sudden, fleeting rain’s
Silver sheen.
No mad riot of buds, and yet
Wild red poppies and mignonette,
Flung from her floating garland gown,
Fluttered down.
Spring fled out of the panting South—
Drooping eyelids and burning mouth,
Blown gold hair and a robe of mist,
Desert-kissed.”
Creativity
Exploration
Expression
Nineteenth-Century Creativity for Today
Your Custom Text Here
