Corrine Roosevelt Robinson Poems

At Sagamore the Chief lies low
Above the hill in circled row
The whirring airplanes dip and fly,
A guard of honor from the sky;-
...

I could not welcome you, oh! longed-for peace,
Unless your coming had been heralded
By victory. The legions who have bled
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I am the Tragic Muse;
Born of the web of my brain,
Lo ! my children shall pass,
Poverty, Pathos, and Pain;
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We ask that Love shall rise to the divine,
And yet we crave him very human, too;
Our hearts would drain the crimson of his wine,
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I am the Comic Muse,
Soft as the summer rain,
Come the children I bear
Out of the breath of my brain;
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There's a path that leads to nowhere
In a meadow that I know,
Where an indian river rises
...