Not upon the crowded beaches Where the sun beats fierce and hot; Not upon the river reaches In a shady silvan spot; But in some deep mountain valley, 'Mid the sassafras and fern, Here's the place where I would dally When the suns of Summer burn. Here the sifted sunlight dappling Carpets with translucent green, Flecks and flirts on fern and sapling, Where the cold stream peeps between. "Here," you muse, "since time's beginning, Foot of man has never known; Mine the joy first to be winning All this beauty for my own." "Here," you muse, "is safe seclusion Known alone to bee and bird, From the rude unsought intrusion Of the common human herd." . . . Then a lipstick grossly gleaming, And a half-smoked fag you see; And you waken from your dreaming As a shrill voice yells "Coo-ee!"
This poem was also published in the collection:
|Copyright © Perry Middlemiss 2002|