| Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). Poetry: A Magazine of Verse. 1912–22. | | | | I Am Weary of Being Bitter | | By Arthur Davison Ficke |
| | | I AM weary of being bitter and weary of being wise, | |
| And the armor and the mask of these fall from me, after long. | |
| I would go where the islands sleep, or where the sea-dawns rise, | |
| And lose my bitter wisdom in the wisdom of a song. | |
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| There are magics in melodies, unknown of the sages; | 5 |
| The powers of purest wonder on secret wings go by. | |
| Doubtless out of the silence of dumb preceding ages | |
| Song woke the chaos-world—and light swept the sky. | |
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| All that we know is idle; idle is all we cherish; | |
| Idle the will that takes loads that proclaim it strong. | 10 |
| For the knowledge, the strength, the burden—all shall perish: | |
| One thing only endures, one thing only—song. | | | | |
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