CRANDALL— THE FARMER POET 



53 



The Forest Cure. 



A-weary of burrowing, 



Tired of the town. 

 The shadows of palaces 



Weighted me down ; 

 The smell of the gutters 



Slow-poisoned my breath, 

 Each wheel on the pavement, 



Seemed coupled to Death. 



1 questioned the universe", 



Begged for a clue ; 

 "Up, up," spoke the green world, 



And "Hope," said the blue. 

 "Take time as I take it," 



The gray boulder spoke, 

 And "wait," said the acorn, 



And "trust," said the oak. 





'The partridge sat watching, 

 And called, unafraid." 



I stole to the forest — 



I silently prayed — 

 The partridge sat watching, 



And called, unafraid. 

 The vestals of Springtime 



Went tip-toeing by ; 

 'Twas birthtime in Nature — 



But soft as a sigh. 



Green leaf on the treetop — 



Brown leaf in its bed — 

 One, glad it was living — 



One, glad it was dead! 

 "Grow," whispered the rootlet; 



"Smile," echoed the flower; 

 "Joy," rippled the brooklet, 



"If only an hour." 



