| Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). Poetry: A Magazine of Verse. 1912–22. | | | | Love Was Dead All Day | | By Alfred Kreymborg |
| | From “Toadstools”
I HAVE been a snob today; | |
| Scourge me with a thousand thongs! | |
| The crowds that passed me atoms were: | |
| Plunge me into a vat of tar! | |
| Love was dead all day. | 5 |
| |
| Tyrant I had a feast of self: | |
| Hang me from the city gallows! | |
| His harem, pride and vanity: | |
| Throw my body to Doodle Dandy! | |
| Love was dead all day. | 10 |
| |
| Let him tear my I from me, | |
| Let him stick it on a pike; | |
| Let him dance through every street | |
| For all to jeer, for all to damn. | |
| Love was dead all day. | 15 |
| |
| Let him fling the selfish thing | |
| Into the public pool of shame; | |
| And raise a stone that all may read, | |
| Those that live and those to come, | |
| “Love was dead all day.” | 20 | | | |
|
|
