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

Souls

MY soul goes clad in gorgeous things,

Scarlet and gold and blue.

And at her shoulder sudden wings

Like long flames flicker through.

And she is swallow-fleet, and free

From mortal bonds and bars.

She laughs, because eternity

Blossoms for her with stars!

O folk who scorn my stiff gray gown,

My dull and foolish face,

Can ye not see my soul flash down,

A singing flame through space?

And folk, whose earth-stained looks I hate,

Why may I not divine

Your souls, that must be passionate,

Shining and swift, as mine?