| Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). Poetry: A Magazine of Verse. 1912–22. | | | | Margot | | By George O’Neil |
| | From “Wings of Spring”
DEAR one, I cannot tell you in a word | |
| How sweet I think you are, for you are gone— | |
| Gone like a lovely song that I have heard, | |
| But never learned, from new-leaved woods at dawn. | |
| I think of fluting from a distant hill | 5 |
| Blown in the spring by some light shepherd boy, | |
| Startling the winds and making birds be still; | |
| And in my soul awakes a sudden joy— | |
| A joy that rising to my lips must die | |
| With such pain as the night feels when afar | 10 |
| Day’s silver fingers slip along the sky | |
| And tremble up to take a fainting star. | |
| You are the memory that a dream awakes | |
| Like dwindling music that an echo makes. | | | | |
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