| Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). Poetry: A Magazine of Verse. 1912–22. | | | | The Visit | | By Carlyle McIntyre |
| | From “On the Road”
MY latch was lifted—a tall light crept in. | |
| His wings were bleeding and his feet were sore, | |
| His eyes were vacant as a wind-swept moor: | |
| Most pitiful of glorious cherubim. | |
| I fed him, as I thought an angel must | 5 |
| Be weary from a way so long and hard; | |
| I bathed his feet and balmed his wings with nard, | |
| Then sat before him, nibbling my poor crust. | |
| “Oh, are you Death?” I asked him.—“I am Faith.” | |
| “Then shall I be exalted?” “Nay, brought low.” | 10 |
| “What shall I have”—for he had risen to go— | |
| “To prove I have not succored a fell wraith?” | |
| “You shall have doubt and bitterness,” he said. | |
| And hence it is that I am worse than dead. | | | | |
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