Pensive Day

Bare trees gently swaying
Against a pearl-gray sky–
Oh, what diverse emotions
Within my body lie!

I’m restless, and I’m peaceful,
And suddenly I’m blue,
And gloriously happy,
And discontented, too.

It must have been, I think,
On such gray, quiet days,
That Caesar planned his battles–
That Shakespeare wrote his plays.

February 13, 1938



The words I write with pen and ink
Are poor excuse for verse, I think.
They can’t express–even in part–
The lovely poem in my heart.

July 23, 1939