Poetry of Kansas

A Kansas Sandstorm

(with apology to Mr. Wordsworth)
 
The sand is too much with us; morn and noon,
Hurling and swirling, it lays waste our powers;
Little we see of nature, for by hours
We are prisoners, held by this wild monsoon.
The trees are barren, stricken by the sand's buffoon:
The wind that is now howling at all hours
And is upgathering to strike anew.
With this, this sand, we are sadly out of tune.
 
It warps our souls;--Great Pan! I'd rather be
A reed in the river, uprooted, torn;
So might I, sitting on the bank with thee,
Hear music that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of a peaceful, quiet lea,
Where wind and sand move not and are foresworn.

__Margaret Evans.

Kansas Poets
Edited by May William Ward
(New York: Henry Harrison. 1935)
Page 78

 
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April 21, 2005 / John & Susan Howell / Wichita, Kansas / howell@kotn.org

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