The Interpreter

Poem By Orrick Johns

In the very early morning when the light was low
She got all together and she went like snow,
Like snow in the springtime on a sunny hill,
And we were only frightened and can't think still.

We can't think quite that the katydids and frogs
And the little crying chickens and the little grunting hogs,
And the other living things that she spoke for to us
Have nothing more to tell her since it happened thus.

She never is around for any one to touch,
But of ecstasy and longing she too knew much,
And always when any one has time to call his own
She will come and be beside him as quiet as a stone.

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Other poems of ORRICK JOHNS

Little Things

There's nothing very beautiful and nothing very gay
About the rush of faces in the town by day,
But a light tan cow in a pale green mead,
That is very beautiful, beautiful indeed . . .


What though the moon should come
   With a blinding glow,
And the stars have a game
   On the wood's edge,

The Sea-Lands

Would I were on the sea-lands,
   Where winds know how to sting;
And in the rocks at midnight
   The lost long murmurs sing.

Songs Of Deliverance

I—The Song Of Youth
This is the song of youth,
This is the cause of myself;