Nets to Catch the Wind

<h3> <SPAN name="atavism"></SPAN> ATAVISM<br/> </h3> <p class="poem"> I always was afraid of Somes's Pond:<br/> Not the little pond, by which the willow stands,<br/> Where laughing boys catch alewives in their hands<br/> In brown, bright shallows; but the one beyond.<br/> There, when the frost makes all the birches burn<br/> Yellow as cow-lilies, and the pale sky shines<br/> Like a polished shell between black spruce and pines,<br/> Some strange thing tracks us, turning where we turn.<br/></p> <p class="poem"> You'll say I dream it, being the true daughter<br/> Of those who in old times endured this dread.<br/> Look! Where the lily-stems are showing red<br/> A silent paddle moves below the water,<br/> A sliding shape has stirred them like a breath;<br/> Tall plumes surmount a painted mask of death.<br/></p> <p><br/><br/><br/></p> <div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />