William Stanley Braithwaite, ed. (1878–1962). Anthology of Magazine Verse for 1920.

Beauty’s Burden

I AM weighed down beneath a clustering load

Of fragrances, rich Sounds and lovely shapes,

Like one who toils along a doubtful road

With the glad wealth of purple-glinting grapes.

I seem to stagger from an ancient city

With golden armor, swords, fierce jewels, rings,—

Treasure that stirs deep memories with the pity

Of fate-foiled heroes and forgotten kings.

And then I dream I bear a love-ripe maiden,

Whose folded eyelids flutter; and I thirst

To touch her throat, her lips, till, rapture-laden,

It seems at length as if my heart would burst.

Yet, Beauty-faint, I would not lose one shade,

Or note or scent that Beauty’s hand hath made.

The Farmer