Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

electric pianos, guitars & phonographs – welcome sounds to me, bizarre as they were – I felt at home once again –; The stripling sleeps in a grassy mound dreaming the dreams of innocent boyhood; and the soft winds of a March south blows his hair in confusion across his smiling forehead. Suddenly a weird piercing strain of music comes thru the air and awakens him – He sits up dazed – he listens but all is quiet; he tries to recall it, it had sounded like Calliope music, or such music as the fauns might make. The suns (sic) climbs to the zenith, and heat waves dance over the dry grass; his body becomes filled with restlessness; he arises and knows he has heard the call of youth; and he starts away, leaving his dreams behind him.; ; Jan 8, 1922 –; Sunlight streams from out of the glowing white South, over windswept plains spotted with glistening willows and buttonwoods, and strikes the big blocky buildings full on their sides. The blood commences to leap and trees have the sap weather look –; ; Jan 11, 1922 –; In the hours of our self-sufficiency, we can attempt to define God; but when the soul is torn with anguish and we pray; there is no such attempt; our soul cries out to some –