| Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). Poetry: A Magazine of Verse. 1912–22. | | | | The Toss | | By Cecil John |
| | From “On the Edge”
IT’S a million miles from Here to There, | |
| And not a soul who’s here to care | |
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| Whether I sit by my lonely fire | |
| And smoke till the last grey ashes expire, | |
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| Or whether I go down the narrow way | 5 |
| The goats spring up at break of day— | |
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| Past the huts where the thatched roofs gleam | |
| Silver-domed in the moonlight’s beam, | |
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| Past the shambas where shadows deep | |
| Beneath the broad banana-leaves sleep— | 10 |
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| On to a hut in the thorn-tree glade, | |
| Where a brown-skinned, ankleted, slim young jade, | |
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| Sulky and supple, is waiting for me….. | |
| Well, shall I go?… Toss a coin and see! | | | | |
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