| Louis Untermeyer, ed. (1885–1977). Modern American Poetry. 1919. |
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| Arthur Davison Ficke. 1883– |
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| 98. Sonnet |
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| THERE are strange shadows fostered of the moon, | |
| More numerous than the clear-cut shade of day.... | |
| Go forth, when all the leaves whisper of June, | |
| Into the dusk of swooping bats at play; | |
| Or go into that late November dusk | 5 |
| When hills take on the noble lines of death, | |
| And on the air the faint, astringent musk | |
| Of rotting leaves pours vaguely troubling breath. | |
| Then shall you see shadows whereof the sun, | |
| Knows nothing—aye, a thousand shadows there | 10 |
| Shall leap and flicker and stir and stay and run, | |
| Like petrels of the changing foul or fair; | |
| Like ghosts of twilight, of the moon, of him | |
| Whose homeland lies past each horizon's rim.... | |
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