H. L. Davis

From “Primapara”

HONEY in the horn! I brought my horse from the water

And from the white grove of tall alders over the spring,

And brought him past a row of high hollyhocks

Which flew and tore their flowers thin as his mane.

And women there watched, with hair blown over their mouths;

Yet in watching the oat field they were quiet as the spring.

“Are the hollyhocks full bloomed? It is harvest then.

The hay falls like sand falling in a high wind

When the weeds blow and fly—but steady the sand falls.

It is harvest, harvest, and honey in the horn.

I would like to go out, in a few days, through the stubble field,

And to all the springs—yours too we have known for years—

And to the bearing vines, and clean the berries from them.”

Call, women!—why do you stand if not for your pride’s sake?

But the women would neither call to me nor speak,

Nor to any man not mowing during their harvest.

They watched with their hair blowing, near the stalks,

In the row of red hollyhocks.
Quiet as the spring.

What is by the spring? A bird, and a few old leaves.