Here is a low, bewitching wind
That whispers soft to the half-grown corn,
That rocks the twigs while the buds are born,
And holds the birds in a dreamful sleep
While the night-things creep.
Here am I, drunk with the spell
Of corn-scented, cool, moon-flooded night.
Scarce able to move for their weight of love,
The winds drag in, and up above,
Between the leaves as best he can,
A star winks through. He understands!
__P. Roy Brammell
Contemporary Kansas Poetry
Helen Rhoda Hoopes
(Kansas City: Joseph D. Havens Company. 1927)