The Call of the Canyon: A Poem

The Call of the Canyon When the days are the hottest in all of the year, And the dust and the glare of the summer is here When even the breath of the night settles down Like a palsy to deaden the pulse of the town, Comes the call of the canyon to lure me away Where the squirrel, the breeze, and the cataract play.

With the call of the canyon. come visions of rest On the river's cool bank, where the angling is best, Come dreams of the dreaming, when each tired head First knew the repose of a fragrant pine bed, First felt the soft zephyrs at play with his hair, First saw how Aurora sifts light through the air.

With the call of the canyon my hunger returns, That old school-time hunger that toil never earns The hunger that flavors each morsel just right, And comes without coaxing, noon, morning, and night. The games 'round the bonfire, the story, and song, With the call of the canyon come crowding along.

With the call of the canyon come' memories sweet Of the dawning of love with its chapter complete Of the timid response when my love was declared, And her modest reserve in confessing she cared How I loved in the canyon to stroll by her side, To the deeps of the grove where the feather-ferns hide.

While the canyon is calling, I quicken my pace, And clasp her again in a loving embrace Still just as angelic, as modest, as fair, And we plan a short rest from life's hurry and care With our girls and our boys in a canyon retreat, Where the gladness of nature our gladness will greet. Annie D. Palmer