Poem by Ina Donna Coolbrith

A Memory

THROUGH rifts of cloud the moon's soft silver slips;
A little rain has fallen with the night,
Which from the emerald under-sky still drips
Where the magnolias open, broad and white.

So near my window I might reach my hand
And touch these milky stars, that to and fro
Wave, odorous. . . . Yet 't was in another land —
How long ago, my love, how long ago!

1. The Captive of the White City
2. Two
3. Bret Harte (A stir of pines in the forest)
4. Meadowlarks
5. Memorial Poem

Edward Sill A Memory ("UPON the barren, lonely hill")

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