| Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). Poetry: A Magazine of Verse. 1912–22. | | | | Marriage-caprice | | By Marion Strobel |
| | From “That Year”
LET us not linger over a good-bye: | |
| It is not fitting | |
| That in this too casual life | |
| I, who called you wife | |
| So many weeks ago, | 5 |
| Should stretch past glory | |
| Into present woe. | |
| You are not more to me— | |
| Leaning now against the lintel of my door | |
| And quavering your stagy, “Nevermore to live with you”— | 10 |
| You are not more to me | |
| Than a familiarity of face | |
| And figure. | |
| You ask if I remember | |
| That Sunday in December— | 15 |
| Why treat finality | |
| Elaborately?— | |
| Weaving an intricate fatuity of sighs and words | |
| About a simple ending, | |
| Pretending that we | 20 |
| Achieve tragedy! | |
| |
| Quietly you cross the room—assume | |
| That I am unaware of every beauty that there is | |
| In you: | |
| “We can be friends?”—oh, God!—you touch my hand | 25 |
| In the accustomed way, | |
| |
| And so | |
| In the accustomed way it ends: | |
| You do not go, | |
| We are not friends. | 30 |
| And so it ends. | | | | |
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