H. L. Davis

From “To the River Beach”

LET me go now, now that from grown alders leaves

Have torn loose, and go flying close to the sand

Along the black river-water. White rye-grass bends

Under the wind, under the sky, toward water

Where the pheasants feed, hiding; and the few willows,

With dark alder leaves caught in them, join and part.

I have not seen them for so long I see dark mouths

Black with juice of berries, and I remember the children

Who ran shaking the tall rye-grass. So they run

And scatter as if caught in the wind, gathering

The last beach fruit, late ripening, which they can save.