| Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). Poetry: A Magazine of Verse. 1912–22. | | | | Death Goes before Me | | By Yvor Winters |
| | | DEATH goes before me on his hands and knees, | |
| And we go down among the bending trees. | |
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| Weeping I go, and no man gives me ease— | |
| I am that strange thing that each strange eye sees; | |
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| Eyes of the silence, and all life an eye, | 5 |
| Turn in the wind; and always I walk by. | |
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| Too still I go, and all things go from me | |
| As down far autumn beaches a man runs to the sea. | |
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| My hands are cold, my lips are thin and dumb. | |
| Stillness is like the beating of a drum. | 10 | | | |
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