| Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). Poetry: A Magazine of Verse. 1912–22. | | | | The House of Laurels | | By Carlyle F. McIntyre |
| | From “Rodomontades”
GRAY in eternal twilight are its hills, | |
| The country where my house is hidden away; | |
| And melancholy with blind whippoorwills | |
| That cannot fly to hunt their vanished day. | |
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| Low sombre woods of crimson mulberries | 5 |
| Beckon the desperate traveller to drain | |
| A skin of their rich juice. Oh, here is peace | |
| For restlessness, for sorrow, and for pain. | |
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| The houses are of solid marble-stone | |
| And only large enough for one to sleep. | 10 |
| Hence, fathers from their children live alone; | |
| Lovers are parted as by hatred deep. | |
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| I pass the quiet porches of my friends; | |
| The eyeless walls give me no greeting sign. | |
| One more turn to the left, and the road ends…. | 15 |
| The house with laurels at the door is mine. | | | | |
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