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date: 1920-04-03

names-on-the-page: Mrs. Thompson; Miss Hambleton

transcription: April 3, 1920 - Page 4

Then she gave Mrs. Thompson this personal poem:

-My Season-

I am not of the early spring,
Whose tenderness is proclaimed in young shoots,
In furry buds, in tasselled seedlings.
I am not of the Spring. My heart
Doth not yield to the budding season. Nay.

I am not of the summer's tide,
So openly announced in garish color,
Golded splendor spreading, poppies as painted
Mummers splotching fields, and purpled iris
Spread upon the marshes. I am not
Of the Summer openly announced. Nay.

My heart is as a pool
In the early autumn warm yet
Of the Summer's sun yet kissed
Of frost about its lips, upon it
Reflected russets bronzed of sun
Leaves like disks f brass flecked of scarlet,
Grass that bends of weight and scratches;
Skies that are grey, shuttled with a red sun;
A moon veiled as a nun and stars
That burn like white tapers
At a holy shrine. Such am I.

She then gave Miss Hambleton this:

-Ready-

My wings are spread.
I am like a lark in the early morning
Who hath ne'er sung. I am filled
With an ecstasy. I am consumed
With elation. I am become a pit for song!
I shall spread my wings surely
Fringing the blue, sailing sun-ward
With my throat ope!

I am hungry that I sing
Yet wait the holy instant when the song
Is born. Behold me, Lord!
I am come sailing as a stone
Flung at the sun's heart. See!
My throat is ope. I would sing.
I await thy ministering.

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