Page:American Poetry 1922.djvu/161

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Jean Starr Untermeyer


Plow not nor plant this Arid mound.
Here is no up for seed,
No ferment for your need—
Ungrateful ground!

No man can warm this spot
God has forgot;
No rain can penetrate
Its barren slate.

Demonic winds blow last year's stubble
From its hard slope.
Go, leave the hopeless without hope;
Spare your trouble.