Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.
Invocation to DeathEmanuel Carnevali
L
Close my eyes tight.
Still my arms,
Let me
Be.
Then,
Come!
Let me be utterly alone:
Do not let the awful understanding that comes with
The thought of Death
Bother me.
Your love was not strong enough to hold me.
I have them here in my hands,
The rags.
That lets foolish impossibilities, like me, live.
But I am no debtor.
The yearning for peace,
The curiosity for a word:
Forever.
Like a lady—
The first lady and the last.
The noise swelling from the morning streets,
Nor the two desperate sparrows chirruping;
Just not to fear any longer
The landlady.