This page needs to be proofread.
656
HISTORY OF OREGON LITERATURE
Where cried the bittern sentinel in challenge to the hushes,
And little flecks of borrowed flame were on the muskrat's wake.
I would you could have known the breeze —the salt breath of its wooing —
When every blade and every wave was dancing in the sun,
And all the marshland merriment was suing, suing, suing
To hold the lease on happiness in morning just begun.
And little flecks of borrowed flame were on the muskrat's wake.
I would you could have known the breeze —the salt breath of its wooing —
When every blade and every wave was dancing in the sun,
And all the marshland merriment was suing, suing, suing
To hold the lease on happiness in morning just begun.
Up sprang the mallard —as he springs no more and never...
They stole his chosen province in the lone, lone land;
The wheat is green and growing and the plowshares sever
The beaches where the plover folk were calling from the sand.
To gain a rood of barley soil they set the waters flowing,
By gashes in the ancient ooze, to streams that seek the sea;
And, O, I know the laughing lake was very loth at going —
As one who loves her ministry and asks not to be free.
A breeze from over yonder—and the tall wheat billows—
I'll grant that it's a comely place—a tame, tame shire;
Yet I have seen the wind at play among the sedge and willows,
And I have seen the mallard's throat against a cloud on fire.
I would you could have seen him with the sun-glint on his splendor,
Before they lured his lake away to gain a rood of land,
When morning's magic on the marsh was tender, tender, tender—
And all the pretty plover folk were calling from the sand.
They stole his chosen province in the lone, lone land;
The wheat is green and growing and the plowshares sever
The beaches where the plover folk were calling from the sand.
To gain a rood of barley soil they set the waters flowing,
By gashes in the ancient ooze, to streams that seek the sea;
And, O, I know the laughing lake was very loth at going —
As one who loves her ministry and asks not to be free.
A breeze from over yonder—and the tall wheat billows—
I'll grant that it's a comely place—a tame, tame shire;
Yet I have seen the wind at play among the sedge and willows,
And I have seen the mallard's throat against a cloud on fire.
I would you could have seen him with the sun-glint on his splendor,
Before they lured his lake away to gain a rood of land,
When morning's magic on the marsh was tender, tender, tender—
And all the pretty plover folk were calling from the sand.
18
BORGHILD LEE
Mrs. Borghild Lee was born in Oslo, Norway, and came to America when 18 years old. She lived in Minnesota and North Dakota for ten years and moved to Oregon in 1924, making her home mostly
