Verse > Anthologies > Harriet Monroe, ed. > Poetry: A Magazine of Verse, 1912–22
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Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936).  Poetry: A Magazine of Verse.  1912–22.
 
From a Vineyard
By H. L. Davis
 
From “To the River Beach”

THE BUSHES have borne few berries, scarcely a color
That hangs against the rocks and dips when the wind,
Aimed against the low branches, bows them to the root.
Back of this poor river country the grain is housed;
And blackbirds, going to eat a little dropped grain,        5
Hurry from the cold beaches. What must begin
But thoughts of my friends yonder: of such a life,
And of such a man’s body. One Laura, who is my friend,
Whose throat is round without shadow, and the warmth
Is like fire upon the eyes; Italian woman, dark-haired        10
Worker in the bearing vines—I envy them
Who know how your breast shaped, who measured you
From little to tall woman.
                    Riding brings me much
Among the dead plants and through the shedding vines:
These lives I know of—the mouths underground,        15
Roots’ mouths, that since summer are useless, and have died.
So the wild gourds turn yellow upon their black stems,
Drop, and presently that fruit opens to the seed.
 
Laura, Italian over whose vines the blackbirds fly,
It is longer than this knowledge is old since you came        20
Through the dead and frosty vineyard to my side.
 
 
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