Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.

Morning

I WENT out on an April morning

All alone, for my heart was high.

I was a child of the shining meadow,

I was a sister of the sky.

There in the windy flood of morning

Longing lifted its weight from me,

Lost as a sob in the midst of cheering,

Swept as a sea-bird out to sea.