Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.

Bessie Bobtail

AS down the street she wambled slow,

She had not got a place to go:

She had not got a place to fall

And rest herself—no place at all.

She stumped along and wagged her pate

And said a thing was desperate.

Her face was screwed and wrinkled tight

Just like a nut—and, left and right,

On either side she wagged her head

And said a thing; and what she said

Was desperate as any word

That ever yet a person heard.

I walked behind her for a while

And watched the people nudge and smile.

But ever as she went she said,

As left and right she swung her head,

—“Oh, God He knows,” and “God He knows:”

And surely God Almighty knows.