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Home  »  Poetry: A Magazine of Verse  »  F. S. Flint

Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.

Cones

F. S. Flint

From “In London”

THE BLUE mist of after-rain

Fills all the trees;

The sunlight gilds the tops

Of the poplar spires, far off.

Here a branch sways

And there

a sparrow twitters.

The curtain’s hem, rose-embroidered,

Flutters, and half reveals

A burnt-red chimney-pot.

The quiet in the room

Bears patiently

A footfall on the street.