Classic Poem

Austin

She leans upon her violet hills at ease
At the plains' edge: innocent and secure,
Keeper of sacred fountains, quaintly sure,
Greek draperies fluttering in the prairie-breeze.
She stands tiptoe and looks across the seas,
Where older lands and richer shrines allure,
Wistful, that she is young and crude and poor —
But secret-sure that she is proud as these.

Her sons bring delicate plunder home, to grace
Houses discreet, and gardens sweetly walled —
She is enamored of the fit and fair.
Far-gathered treasures in her love find place:
White peacocks where the prairie-schooners crawled —
Italian roses in her sunburnt hair.