Gateway to the Classics: Display Item
Hilda Conkling

By Lake Champlain

I was bare as a leaf

And I felt the wind on my shoulder.

The trees laughed

When I picked up the sun in my fingers.

The wind was chasing the waves,

Tangling their white curls.

"Willow trees," I said,

"O willows,

Look at your lake!

Stop laughing at a little girl

Who runs past your feet in the sand!"