Wed., 16 Morning devotions. Make a custard pie & get dinner. Will & Sarah Cotey come to dinner. Have a poem, “Call of the Hills” in “The Vermonter,” another “The Sabbath Day” in the Free Press. Manley Marshall comes for flowers. His mother died this morning & his wife not long ago. Pick the last grapes off the stems & boil them up. Put grape marmalade into cans. Letter from Sinclair Lewis.
And here’s one of the poems, which was also published in Green Mountain Echoes:
CALL OF THE HILLS
I will rise at dawn on a summer day
And follow the trail thru the hills away,
I will make my camp where the pines grow tall
And fragrant needles softly fall.
I will pitch my tent where murmurs low
Like music drift from the river’s flow.
I will drape my couch with balsam deep
And inhale its fragrance while I sleep.
While the old world swelters in noonday heat
The mountain breeze will cool my retreat,
Bird songs will quaver from hidden shade
And squirrels will come to me unafraid.
I will stroll away with the still deep stream
And drop a line where trout fins gleam.
I will heed no hours save hunger’s call,
I will have no light when the shadows fall.
When the moon shines down on my place of rest
I will watch her glimmer on the river’s breast. . .
I will watch the stars in the deeps above
And my heart will pulse with the hills I love.