Have found the shy fawn-lily and the hoods Of purple orchids caverned secretly. And you have heard the dusky bumble-bee Drone a gold drowsy track through solitudes So deep not even the boldest thought intrudes His wistful shadow on that infinity.
I, too, have walked green meadows and I know What loveliness they send about the heart Drawn from sweet wells where thought is laid asleep. Child, you are wise already, and being so, Why reach for knowledge that can but tear apart Your blessedness, nor tell you why you weep!
22
CHARLES OLUF OLSEN
Charles Oluf Olsen was born in Denmark on November 13, 1872, and came to America at the age of 16. “After drifting around looking the country over to find the best place to live in,” he settled in Oregon in 1899. His occupations have been those of blacksmith, cook, salesman and lumberjack before he began writing feature articles, verse and fiction for the newspapers and magazines. In 1922 he mar ried Elizabeth Thompson, who is also well known as a writer of Verse.
Wood SMokE
In wreaths of gray or blue or white, Inseparable from my ways, You have been harbinger of peace, Of rest, of comfort, all my days.
Your spirals in the quiet dawn, Or lifted by the wind, or blown Low and slowly under rain, Bore ministry to me, alone.
When I am done with pack and trail— My last camp where I chance to fare— It's woodsmoke rising in the dusk, Will be my paean and my prayer.
