| Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). Poetry: A Magazine of Verse. 1912–22. | | | | Strain | | By Amy Lowell |
| | From “Chalks: Black, Red, White”
IT is late | |
| And the clock is striking thin hours, | |
| But sleep has become a terror to me, | |
| Lest I wake in the night | |
| Bewildered, | 5 |
| And stretching out my arms to comfort myself with you, | |
| Clasp instead the cold body of the darkness. | |
| All night it will hunger over me, | |
| And push and undulate against me, | |
| Breathing into my mouth | 10 |
| And passing long fingers through my drifting hair. | |
| Only the dawn can loose me from it, | |
| And the gray streaks of morning melt it from my side. | |
| Bring many candles, | |
| Though they stab my tired brain | 15 |
| And hurt it. | |
| For I am afraid of the twining of the darkness | |
| And dare not sleep. | | | | |
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