Motoring at Night (verse)
Fuller, Ethel Romig
The ebon-winged hills Were no sooner defined As shapes on the sky Than we left them behind. A tree, like a runner. Loping before. Sprinted a mile or two Then was no more. But the rollicking...
...Nor could we outride His curious stare...
...But the rollicking moon With his mangy mist-hound, Crashed through the forest Bound after bound To the side of the car...
...His seven-league stride...
Vol. 6 • June 1927 • No. 7
