Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.
SouthwardBaker Brownell
From “In Barracks”
F
Four hundred yards away—
A drunken, tawny beast—
Slept across the southward path.
“There shall no soldier go,”
The order was, “beyond
The murky middle of the stream.”
Its drifting slopes
Slid back into sun-hid distance.
Its tawny skin, sleek
With clean aridity,
Lay unpunctured by man’s growth.
Four hundred yards away—
A thousand years could sink
Into the gap between this river-bank and that.