| Harriet Monroe, ed. (18601936). Poetry: A Magazine of Verse. 191222. | | | | The Widows Lament in Springtime | | By William Carlos Williams |
| | | SORROW is my own yard | |
| where the new grass | |
| flames as it has flamed | |
| often before, but not | |
| with the cold fire | 5 |
| that closes round me this year. | |
| Thirty-five years | |
| I lived with my husband. | |
| The plum tree is white today | |
| with masses of flowers. | 10 |
| Masses of flowers | |
| load the cherry branches | |
| and color some bushes | |
| yellow and some red, | |
| but the grief in my heart | 15 |
| is stronger than they, | |
| for though they were my joy | |
| formerly, today I notice them | |
| and turn away forgetting. | |
| Today my son told me | 20 |
| that in the meadows, | |
| at the edge of the heavy woods | |
| in the distance, he saw | |
| trees of white flowers. | |
| I feel that I would like | 25 |
| to go there | |
| and fall into those flowers | |
| and sink into the marsh near them. | | | | |
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