RHYME SHEET

NOAH'S DOVE

But she was a coy dove,
One eye slyly bright,
When Noah's great form
Hove in sight.

He said: "Of all my flock
I hold you the most dear;"
To her complainings
Bent a massive ear.

He spoke: she teetered up
On pink, rheumatic feet;
"Go forth, my dove," he said,
That we may eat."

Noah's white dove
Through each funereal day,
In disposition
Changed to sooty gray.

Her eyes were cold and blue
As covenanting sky;
Delicate small her bones,
She did not wish to fly.

She paced, a cowed dove
In the smelly Ark;
Deprived of feathers
By the chicken hawk.

She, drowned in spray
And tremulous with ire,
Thought of the warm Ark,
The persuasive fire.

And, passively,
On lame, unwilling wing
Sought vainly for some tree
Where she might cling.

The tactful olive bloomed—
(A great accommodation;)
And Noah led out
His damp, distressful nation.

Poem by LAURA BENÉT

(Reprinted by permission of The New Yorker and Doubleday, Doran & Company, Inc.)

Decorations by PRENTISS TAYLOR

The Winter Wheat Press, 1735 F St. N.W., Washington, D.C.

No. 2