Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.
Wild HorsesA. Y. Winters
From “Monodies”
I
They beat on the earth with small round sharp hoofs;
They cut the face of the earth to wrinkles,
And thunder their life and lust in God’s face.
They sweep in a curve like smoke of a prairie fire
(So they must seem to God who watches)
Weaving a pattern of grays and browns
That shifts and swirls—a magian’s carpet—
That flows and swirls like smoke in a crystal.