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Evans, Mildred (ed.) / Wisconsin literary magazine
Volume XVIII, Number 2 (November 1918)

Meyer, Ernest L.; Belknap, Margaret; Meyer, Sylva
[Verse],   p. 44

Page 44

November, 1918
If I, in other ages, were to be
The sheaf of wheat that aches for cool caress,
And you the wind that, singing, came to me
In glad response to minister and bless;
Or if, in future time, a mountain, I
Frowned bare and sterile where the salt-land shines,
And you, a winged seed, that, blowing by,
Whispered the promise of a crown of pines;
Or I a planet, wandering in space,
A hermit world, unknowing and unknown,
And you a greater star that fixed my place,
And linked your heavenly pathway with mine own;
If thus we meet (and oh! we will, we will!)
Grief and its plodding hour will not exist,
And every parting, every thorn and ill
Be breaths-in-passing, like a wind-blown mist.
A faith came to me at the morn,
On golden pinioned wings it flew,
It oped the skies, and made reborn
The things I passed and never knew.
A faith came to me at high noon,
With smiles and warmth and laughter gay,
It sang of joy with dulcet tune,
The faith of day.
A faith came to me in the night,
It clung unceasing to my soul,
And as I fought to know its might,
It made me whole!
By the glow of the flick'ring fire,
By the shapes my fancy drew,
By the beck-ning will-o-the-wisps-I love!
By the Gypsy Cross-it is you.
But I am the flame in the hungry eyes
That peer from out the gloom,
The moon in the pine, the kiss of the snow,
The free, wild wind,-and my doom.

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