| Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). Poetry: A Magazine of Verse. 1912–22. | | | | Gone under | | By Cecil John |
| | From “On the Edge”
ROB had ambition, came to Africa | |
| To live the strenuous life and make a fortune. | |
| He had energy, his mother’s money, and a boy’s high hope. | |
| He met a planter—tobacco was the thing!— | |
| Was offered shares. | 5 |
| He put in all he had; | |
| He worked—God, he sweat blood | |
| Rounding up niggers in the broiling sun, | |
| Planting, digging, trying hard for sales! | |
| Cigars were not two pounds the thousand lot. | 10 |
| His partner used to loll in a long chair | |
| Groggy with whiskey, kissing his black girl. | |
| Rob cleared out finally, picked clean. | |
| He tried for jobs, had fever, lost his nerve…. | |
| Bubunde nursed him—cynical old chief. | 15 |
| Rob took his girl to wife to get her cows, | |
| And grows his manioc on her fertile land, | |
| And smokes his pipe and drinks banana beer. | |
| Sometimes we chat of evenings— | |
| But by day he keeps away. | 20 | | | |
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