NEW ENGLANDER.
There is a stern monastic blood in me That hates this drunkenness of chrome and
red", Why must this twilight impudently spread Its peacock tail upon this purity Of slender greens and grays O, certainly These hills speak far more clearly through
otill snow Or frost-thin silver than through indigo: These skies were made for cold austerity. I love the candid cleansing paleness thrown On landscapes pearl-eyed with the morning
dew, And these dark hemlocks, and the relentless
blue Above, and each gray pasture-fencing stone. . . I "love these hills, this meadow, and this
sky As stiffly starched and as strait-laced as T._ —Frederic Prokosch, in the Century.
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https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/OW19270816.2.238.2
Bibliographic details
Otago Witness, Issue 3831, 16 August 1927, Page 74
Word Count
109NEW ENGLANDER. Otago Witness, Issue 3831, 16 August 1927, Page 74
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