Verse > Anthologies > Harriet Monroe, ed. > Poetry: A Magazine of Verse, 1912–22
Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936).  Poetry: A Magazine of Verse.  1912–22.
By Leone Baker
MY little new love
Is like a wistfully singing violin on a moon-drenched hill.
So I wrapped her carefully in my thoughts,
And carried her to a room
Where she might surrender her eyelids to my lips        5
And dry my tears in her hair.
But suddenly you were there,
Beloved ghost,
With your eyes like two open doors to sorrow’s chamber.
You were so nearly afraid to speak        10
Your words were blown toward me
Like fragments of mist
Distorted and scattered by wind.
But my little new love—
She who is more shy than drops of rain—        15
Trembled and fled from me;
And then there were only we two
Poor ghosts,
Shrinking against opposite walls of the room,
Staring.        20

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