| William Stanley Braithwaite, ed. (1878–1962). Anthology of Magazine Verse for 1920. 1920. |
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| Sonnet |
| | | Maxwell Bodenheim (1893–1954) |
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| LIKE wine grown stale, the street-lamp’s pallor seeks | |
| The wilted anger of her scarlet lips, | |
| And bitter, evanescent finger-tips | |
| Of unsaid questions play upon her cheeks. | |
| She sways a little, and her tired breath, | 5 |
| Fumbling at the crucifix of her mind, | |
| Draws out the aged nails, now dull and kind, | |
| That once were sharp loves hardening in their death. | |
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| And so a dumb joy tips her sudden smiles | |
| At passing men who eye her wonderingly | 10 |
| And hurry on because her face is old. | |
| They merely think her clumsy in her wiles: | |
| They know not that her face is dizzily | |
At rest because old memories have grown cold.
The Dial | |
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