Explore "White Light" by Hervey Allen on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
How like high mountain air this air in France; / The sun is so intense, so clear, so bright, / The fields unearthly green, the poplars glance, / Shivering their leafy lances in the light.
Those drilling troops flash back a steely gleam.
Others with distant din of clean delight, / Bathe where their bodies flash along the stream / And everywhere, the air, a lake of light!
White light, strange light of tense romantic days, / You are too rare, too cloudless and too clear, / Like a deep crystal where a seer might gaze / And see some vast disaster drawing near.