Feathers (verse)
Widdemer, Margaret
Qfteath ers The gold forsythia's bright-curled fronds Lash out their long incredible wands And withes of feathering greenness fall And flow, a tide, along the wall; The mill-stream's plumy...
...The mill-stream's plumy water rides White-feathered, down the stone's hid sides, And down the sharply azured sky Even the clouds flow feathery by, The children down a path heaped new Rustle and push as they go through, Thrusting their feet through magic things, The maple's paired dawn-colored wings...
...Only the robins, sulkily Huddling along a wind-struck tree, Deny their feathers, sudden grown Smooth and dun-colored as a stone...
...Margaret Widdemer...
Vol. 12 • September 1930 • No. 20
