Verse > Anthologies > Harriet Monroe, ed. > Poetry: A Magazine of Verse, 1912–22
  PREVIOUSNEXT  
CONTENTS · BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD
Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936).  Poetry: A Magazine of Verse.  1912–22.
 
Four Poems in Unrhymed Cadence
By F. S. Flint
 
I.
LONDON, my beautiful,
it is not the sunset
nor the pale green sky
shimmering through the curtain
of the silver birch,        5
nor the quietness;
it is not the hopping
of the little birds
upon the lawn,
nor the darkness        10
stealing over all things
that moves me.
 
But as the moon creeps slowly
over the tree-tops
among the stars,        15
I think of her
and the glow her passing
sheds on men.
 
London, my beautiful,
I will climb        20
into the branches
to the moonlit tree-tops,
that my blood may be cooled
by the wind.
 
II.
Dear one!
        25
you sit there
in the corner of the carriage;
and you do not know me;
and your eyes forbid.
 
Is it the dirt, the squalor,        30
the wear of human bodies,
and the dead faces of our neighbors?
These are but symbols.
 
You are proud; I praise you;
your mouth is set; you see beyond us;        35
and you see nothing.
 
I have the vision of your calm, cold face,
and of the black hair that waves above it;
I watch you; I love you;
I desire you.        40
 
There is a quiet here
within the thud-thud of the wheels
upon the railway.
 
There is a quiet here
within my heart,        45
but tense and tender….
 
This is my station….
 
III.
Under the lily shadow
and the gold
and the blue and mauve        50
that the whin and the lilac
pour down on the water,
the fishes quiver.
 
Over the green cold leaves
and the rippled silver        55
and the tarnished copper
of its neck and beak,
toward the deep black water
beneath the arches,
the swan floats slowly.        60
 
Into the dark of the arch the swan floats
and the black depth of my sorrow
bears a white rose of flame.
 
IV.—IN THE GARDEN

The grass is beneath my head;
and I gaze        65
at the thronging stars
in the aisles of night.
 
They fall … they fall….
I am overwhelmed,
and afraid.        70
 
Each little leaf of the aspen
is caressed by the wind,
and each is crying.
 
And the perfume
of invisible roses        75
deepens the anguish.
 
Let a strong mesh of roots
feed the crimson of roses
upon my heart;
and then fold over the hollow        80
where all the pain was.
 
 
CONTENTS · BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD
  PREVIOUSNEXT  
 
Loading
Click here to shop the Bartleby Bookstore.

Shakespeare · Bible · Strunk · Anatomy · Nonfiction · Quotations · Reference · Fiction · Poetry
© 1993–2014 Bartleby.com · [Top 150] · Subjects · Titles · Authors