| Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917. |
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| 270. Not Overlooked |
| | | By James Oppenheim |
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| THOUGH I am little as all little things, | |
| Though the stars that pass over my tininess are as the sands of the sea, | |
| Though the garment of the night was made for a sky-giant and does not fit me, | |
| Though even in a city of men I am as nothing, | |
| Yet at times the gift of life is almost more than I can bear…. | 5 |
| I laugh with joyousness, the morning is a blithe holiday; | |
| And in the overrunning of my hardy bliss praise rises for the very breath I breathe. | |
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| How soaked the universe is with life— | |
| Not a cranny but is drenched! | |
| Ah, not even I was overlooked! | 10 |
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