Multifaria . One Hundred Twenty-jour •,» a. 0/*e Hundred Twenty-five lCiH^glf«X^^-k<^:»liIJ[«CO^^-JIl--^ In A Greenhouse Long rows of dull white boxes filled with loam; Springy paths of board on softening earth; The gleam of whitewash-spattered glass; A dank, oppressive earth-smell, warmly sweet; A rising host of prim carnation stems That grow mid checkered rows of twine; Workmen, clad in overalls, digging stolidly To fill the brick-red flower pots; All these I mark in passing to the room In which the roses, cut, are lying— Roses the hue of a river of blood, Roses the color of sun-swept sky
Multifaria . One Hundred Twenty-jour •,» a. 0/*e Hundred Twenty-five lCiH^glf«X^^-k<^:»liIJ[«CO^^-JIl--^ In A Greenhouse Long rows of dull white boxes filled with loam; Springy paths of board on softening earth; The gleam of whitewash-spattered glass; A dank, oppressive earth-smell, warmly sweet; A rising host of prim carnation stems That grow mid checkered rows of twine; Workmen, clad in overalls, digging stolidly To fill the brick-red flower pots; All these I mark in passing to the room In which the roses, cut, are lying— Roses the hue of a river of blood, Roses the color of sun-swept sky, Roses the cream of an ivory ball— A miracle, no less, they lie there, Translating, in the splendor of their loveliness. The moldy loam in which they grew. The heavy air, the stolid workmans care, Into a beauty which is close akin To all the beauty of infinity. Flora Mercer, poem appeared in The Poets of the Future, the college anthology for 1916-17, One Hundred Twenty-six A Lullaby Hush, sonny, hush, dont start to
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Keywords: ., boo, bookcentury1900, bookdecade1910, booksubjectcollegeyearbooks
