Hazel Hall

From “Repetitions”

I plunge at the rearing hours—
Life is a steed of pride,
Who so high above me towers
I cannot mount and ride.

THE WIND is sewing with needles of rain;

With shining needles of rain

It stitches into the thin

Cloth of earth—in,

In, in, in.

(Oh, the wind has often sewed with me!—

One, two, three.)

Spring must have fine things

To wear, like other springs.

Of silken green the grass must be

Embroidered. (One and two and three.)

Then every crocus must be made

So subtly as to seem afraid

Of lifting color from the ground.

And after crocuses the round

Heads of tulips, and all the fair

Intricate garb that Spring will wear

The wind must sew with needles of rain,

With shining needles of rain

Stitching into the thin

Cloth of earth—in,

In, in, in—

For all the springs of futurity.

(One, two, three.)