Crawling out of their green shirts …
Coughing a little in the dawn …
And the church …
There is always a church
With its natty spire
And the vestibule–
That’s where they whisper:
Tzz-tzz . . . tzz-tzz . . . tzz-tzz . . .
How many codes for a wireless whisper
And corn flatter than it should be
And those chits of leaves
Gadding with every wind?
From Connecticut to Maine:
Tzz-tzz . . . tzz-tzz . . . tzz-tzz. .
from Sun-Up and Other Poems, by Lola Ridge
New York: B. W. Huebsch, 1920
Available on the Internet Archive: Link
This is one in a series of neglected poems taken from the Internet Archive.