[Written for the Sentinel]

The Fields of Bow

Broad, rock-terraced fields of Bow,Spread with rugs of springlike hue,Held close in heaven's arch of blue,No fairer place dear God doth showTo all earth's wondering pilgrim eyesThat, weeping, search for hidden goodOn breezy crag, in forest's wood;Heaven's own path within you lies.

Here walked in childhood's lonely hourA little girl with wind-swept hair,Whose thoughts, like pearls so pure and rare,Enriched old earth with priceless dower.

September 11, 1920

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