WHOM EARTH HAS TAUGHT: RENEWALS by MARGARET PERKINS BRIGGS

This wave of springtime, breaking on a shore
Of field and barnyard in a sorcery
Of April hours, will fill his heart once more
With wonder that such cryptic things can be;
That embers of a protoplasmic fire,
Banked in the clay, and in all blood that flows,
Can kindle, of a sudden, and desire
Sweep soil, and flesh as frosty, where it goes.

The sweet unreasoned fervency of Spring,
Moving no less in loam than stall and pen,
Will work its ageless miracle to bring
Renewal out of dust and flesh again ...
Barley or millet in a field to fill
His empty barn, and young lambs on a hill.

Midas himself, returned from days of old,
And wandering in fields of wheat, unseen,
May well have touched these gleaming spots to gold
Where yesterday were only waves of green.
Now head from head will take the magic glint
Till days grow loud with combines where they tread
Shattering out the dross so that a mint
May coin the precious bullion into bread.

And one who sees beyond his ripening field
A fading stubble, and the monochrome
Of frozen acres, -- he will take a yield
From summer that the heart can carry home:
A magic stored in memories to touch
Thoughts that are dulled by winter, overmuch.

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

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