A RIDGE OF CORN.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XI, Issue 43, 28 October 1893, Page 348

A RIDGE OF CORN.

With heart grown weary of the heat, * And hungry for the breath Of field and farm, with eager feet I trod the pavement dry as death Through city streets where vice is born— And sudden, lo ! a ridge of corn. Above the dingy roof it stood, A dome of tossing, tangled spears. Dark, cool, and sweet as any wood, Its silken gleamed and plnmed ears Langhed on me through the haze of mom, The tranquil presence of the corn. Upon the salt wind from the sea, Borne westward swift as dreams Of boyhood are, I seemed to be )nce more a part of sounds and gleams Thrown on me by the winds of mom Amid the rustling rows of corn. I bared my head, and on me fell The old, wild wizardry again Of leaf and sky, the moving spell Of boyhood’s easy joy or pain, When pumpkin tramp was Siegfried’s horn Echoing down the walls of com. I saw the field (as trackless then As wood to Daniel Boone) Wherein we hnnted wolves and men, And ranged and twanged the green bassoon, Not blither Robin Hood’s merry horn Then pumpkin vine amid the corn. In central deeps the melons lay, Slow swelling in the August sun. I traced again the narrow way, And joined again the stealthy run. The jack o’-lantern race was born Within the shadows of the corn. O wide, west wilderness of leaves I 0 playmates far away 1 Over thee The slow wind like a mourner grieves, And stirs the plnmed ears like a sea. Would we could sound again the born In vast sweet presence of the corn I