136 WITH EARTH AND SKY 
Every hour we drove into more Spring, green 
greeneries, more plowing with the blackbirds and 
crows and chickens following in the furrows so 
the farmer might be less lonesome, and through 
the roar of the train which was in a hurry to 
get farther into Spring, now and then a meadow 
lark’s voice came with its ecstatic staccato blow- 
ing in on the heart when the car window was 
shut and doubly shut and the train’s voice was 
very boisterous, yet swift like a smile on a face 
we love, comes the meadow lark’s fugue of the 
breath of Spring. 
Rains had been heavy. The roads were soppy, 
fields in the main were bidding defiance to the 
plowman though here and there the plow turned 
up the loam of harvests soon to be. It is ever 
to the praise of God that the earth shall bring 
forth its increase and the children of men shall 
be fed. 
Whither hasting, hurrying train? “To Spring, 
to Spring,” chants the sonorous voice of the 
speeding chariot. “To Spring, deeper, deeper into 
the Spring, into the resurrection of the earth.” 
It was good to my heart to hear the railroad 
train turn poet, though, as for that, what is 
there or who is there, I have not heard turn 
poet when occasion grows hot as summer breath? 
There is poetry enough to go around amongst 
us all. “Love never faileth,” is the golden voice 
of the Madrigal of love. Like the tender voice 
singing out plaintively as a curlew’s call, ‘Poetry 
