Vintage Poems - The Peace of Prairies

I will always love a place poem, especially one about a place I love: the prairie. And, oh! Those last three lines! Showstoppers. Enjoy!THE PEACE OF PRAIRIESBy Grace Dickinson Sperling, Oak Park, Ill.To heal my spirit's ill there seemed no cure;With diligence I searched from pole to poleAnd grew accustomed to the lapping lureOf water tugging at a weathered bole.For I have climbed where mountain ranges runAcross and up and down like cacti spines;I know her inland seas and desert sun,Have slept and wakened under giant pines.Still haunted with unrest I roamed the earthIn search of that for which my heart made moan;Nor cared though my far questing brought to birthDeep misery or joy,-were it my own;When suddenly I came on growing comAnd saw the prairies out where I was born.Saw as a stranger where the gracious skyAll dappling, dipped to meet the ground,-Alfalfa meadows, blue-grass, waving rye,The little hills and everything around.Then through my being surged remembered joy,Articulate with melody of longForgotten tunes, and like a wayward boyAt home again, my heart held secret song.Majestic mountain peaks had left me cold;Loved cities, splendid, noisy with alarumPalled on my jaded soul; but here were oldCalm scenes: the place where I was born, the charmOf meadowlark, still singing in the grain,And peace where skies bend low to kiss the plain.Originally published in Pasque Petals 9.3, Summer 1934Featured image by Andrew Dunning under the creative commons license on Flickr.