| Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917. |
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| 234. Spoon River Anthology |
| | | Webster Ford |
| | | By Edgar Lee Masters |
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| DO you remember, O Delphic Apollo, | |
| The sunset hour by the river, when Mickey M’Grew | |
| Cried, “There’s a ghost,” and I, “It’s Delphic Apollo”; | |
| And the son of the banker derided us, saying, “It’s light | |
| By the flags at the water’s edge, you half-witted fools.” | 5 |
| And from thence, as the wearisome years rolled on, long after | |
| Poor Mickey fell down in the water tower to his death, | |
| Down, down, through bellowing darkness, I carried | |
| The vision which perished with him like a rocket which falls | |
| And quenches its light in earth, and hid it for fear | 10 |
| Of the son of the banker, calling on Plutus to save me? | |
| Avenged were you for the shame of a fearful heart, | |
| Who left me alone till I saw you again in an hour | |
| When I seemed to be turned to a tree with trunk and branches | |
| Growing indurate, turning to stone, yet burgeoning | 15 |
| In laurel leaves, in hosts of lambent laurel, | |
| Quivering, fluttering, shrinking, fighting the numbness | |
| Creeping into their veins from the dying trunk and branches! | |
| ’Tis vain, O youth, to fly the call of Apollo. | |
| Fling yourselves in the fire, die with a song of spring, | 20 |
| If die you must in the spring. For none shall look | |
| On the face of Apollo and live, and choose you must | |
| ’Twixt death in the flame and death after years of sorrow, | |
| Rooted fast in the earth, feeling the grisly hand, | |
| Not so much in the trunk as in the terrible numbness | 25 |
| Creeping up to the laurel leaves that never cease | |
| To flourish until you fall. O leaves of me | |
| Too sere for coronal wreaths, and fit alone | |
| For urns of memory, treasured, perhaps, as themes | |
| For hearts heroic, fearless singers and livers— | 30 |
| Delphic Apollo! | |
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