Bright Harvest by Grace Noll Crowell - HTML preview

Pan’s Flute

S

TRANGE that a slender withe can hold

Within its silken thread a thing

So poignant, that a willow tree

Beside a stream has power to bring

One far-off May day back again,

Where a boy with a whittling, tapping blade

Shapes a whistle, and gives girl

The exquisite gift that his hands have made.

And there on a windy hill they stand,

The wild flowers tossing about their feet,

A whistle between the girl’s red lips,

And a sudden high note, shrill and sweet,

Pierces the air as a bird takes wing

Swift as the wind . . . Oh, I never see

A willow fringing a stream in spring

But that May morning comes back to me.

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