Verse > Anthologies > Harriet Monroe, ed. > Poetry: A Magazine of Verse, 1912–22
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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
 
 
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