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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

FLAME ON A SUMMER HILL, by                    
First Line: The hills lean tired gray heads against the breast
Last Line: White yucca banners to a wondering world.


The hills lean tired gray heads against the breast
Of earth, grown weary from the tides of spring;
And through the scraggly stubble comes to rest
The heat-choked whine of wind on laggard wing;
Through fire-parched rut and hollow edged with thorn,
There pushes up a sword-like spire of green;
A passioned memory of the soil is born,
A shining blade to light the dark ravine.

As night and dawn both intermingle there,
The arborescent tissues leap until
They rise with kindred climbing sun to where
Their white flame-points have tipped the summer hill.
And in that bleak gray shale are now unfurled
White yucca banners to a wondering world.





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