| Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). Poetry: A Magazine of Verse. 1912–22. | | | | The Spirit | | By H. L. Davis |
| | From “Primapara”
IN the early spring, the fattening young weeds | |
| Appear, all green, their veins stretched, amongst their dead. | |
| And every sand-hill, with its bundle of willow | |
| And young green riding the sand, is my pleasant walk. | |
| The river, every rock there, and the wind | 5 |
| Molding cold waves, have seen a spirit by day | |
| Which I would see; and now that my heart’s a poor hired one | |
| Which owns no favor or love, but did awhile, | |
| I walk my pleasant walks. Where the new dark red | |
| Willows feather in sand against the sky, | 10 |
| I make out a spirit sitting by the new grass: | |
| The sun shines yellow on the hair, and a wind blows | |
| That would melt snow, but her face calls it on. | |
| And her hands are quiet in her red sleeves all day. | |
| “All my pleasure begins when you come to this place.” | 15 |
| “I am sorry for it, spirit, yet I most wished it; | |
| Has my heart commanding shamed me to your eyes?” | |
| “Never in life shall these eyes see you shamed. | |
| I half live, like a stalk, but no girl orders me.” | | | | |
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