When She Was Born Upon That Kansas HillSoft April tiptoed through the prairie grass, Bidding the early meadow-larks be still And listen for the coming soul to pass. It came with soundless music from the deep, Fulfilled with superhuman harmony That charmed the waiting Easter-bells to sleep. And made them dream of mornings yet to be, When she should romp that hill and greet the sun With her clear treble and drink the spicy air And pulse in time with all the life begun In that soft season of what is sweet and fair. Oh, there was joy enough that April mom Over the, Kansas Hill where she was born! ___William Herbert Carruth
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Contemporary Kansas Poetry
Helen Rhoda Hoopes
page 102
(Kansas City: Joseph D. Havens Company. 1927)
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