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Home  »  Poetry: A Magazine of Verse  »  Edward Sapir

Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.

She Sits Vacant-eyed

Edward Sapir

From “Backwater”

SURELY, surely, there is something for me,

There is something to fill my spirit’s measure.

Winds tell, rains tell—

Somewhere, somewhere is my treasure.

They promised it me when a raven spoke

Back in the reaches of maidenhood.

He spoke for God, he spoke well—

I am groping for what I then understood.

Ten thousand pathways ran to treasure—

The raven spoke, I saw the vision.

Suns burn, moons burn—

God, God! I am sitting in prison!

Surely, surely, there is something for me—

There is something to fill my spirit whole.

Sun, burn! sun, burn!

Pity me, make a blaze of my soul!