| Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). Poetry: A Magazine of Verse. 1912–22. | | | | Pyrotechnics | | By Amy Lowell |
| | I OUR meeting was like the upward swish of a rocket | |
| In the blue night. | |
| I do not know when it burst; | |
| But now I stand gaping, | |
| In a glory of falling stars. | 5 |
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II Hola! Hola! shouts the crowd, as the catherine-wheels sputter and turn. | |
| Hola! They cheer the flower-pots and set pieces. | |
| And nobody heeds the cries of a young man in shirt-sleeves, | |
| Who has burnt his fingers setting them off. | |
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III A King and Queen, and a couple of Generals, | 10 |
| Flame in colored lights; | |
| Putting out the stars, | |
| And making a great glare over the people wandering among the booths. | |
| They are very beautiful and impressive, | |
| And all the people say “Ah!” | 15 |
| By and by they begin to go out, | |
| Little by little. | |
| The King’s crown goes first, | |
| Then his eyes, | |
| Then his nose and chin. | 20 |
| The Queen goes out from the bottom up, | |
| Until only the topmost jewel of her tiara is left. | |
| Then that, too, goes; | |
| And there is nothing but a frame of twisted wires, | |
| With the stars twinkling through it. | 25 | | | |
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