| Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). Poetry: A Magazine of Verse. 1912–22. | | | | Bereft | | By Loureine Aber |
| | From “City Lanes”
O MY country, | |
| I am crying to you piteously as a hungry bird, | |
| I am crying to you for your beautiful ports | |
| And harbors, | |
| For the slow beauty of your Statue and its silent hope. | 5 |
| O my country, I would slink into the crevices of your egoism, | |
| And squat on the doormat of your excellences. | |
| But what shall I do when mad spring comes, | |
| And blossoms come, | |
| And wild sap comes— | 10 |
| But my lover comes not? | |
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| O my country, I might be a thin thread in your flag, | |
| Or the little wind blowing your ships to sea; | |
| But what shall I do when the spring comes in, | |
| And flowers shoot up in me? | 15 | | | |
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