"The Grand Ronde Valley"


The Grand Ronde Valley

Ah, me! I know how like a golden flower
            The Grand Ronde valley lies this August night,
            Locked in by dimpled hills where purple light
Lies wavering. There at the sunset hour
Sink downward, like a rainbow-tinted shower,
            A thousand colored rays, soft, changeful, bright.
            Later the large moon rises, round and white,
And three Blue Mountain pines against it tower,
Lonely and dark. A coyote’s mournful cry
            Sinks from the caƱon―whence the river leaps,
            A blade of silver underneath the moon.
Like restful seas the yellow wheat-fields lie,
            Dreamless and still. And while the valley sleeps,
            O hear!―the lullabies that low winds croon.




"The Grand Ronde Valley" as it appears in Ella Higginson's When the Birds Go North Again (1898).

No comments:

Post a Comment