Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.
PassingEmmy Veronica Sanders
I
I am tired of the going—the going;
And I am tired of passing people.
And the flutter of wings of the little desires.
Bleakness of snow in the north
And in the south the taste of ashes on hot lips.
Westward a loneliness.
Roads over sand, and roads over snow, and roads across rivers.
I am tired of the going—the going;
And I am tired of passing people.
And in the places where you order things to eat.
I am tired of passing them at noon under the flat stare of the sun
And in the street-cars, the elevated trains and the taxis.
Passing glances and feet passing—
Feet of six million people passing and gliding by,
Shuffling and jostling by—
Passing—passing;
And those that pass on the screen in the movies,
And the people that pass—slowly—hurriedly—
With a half-caught gest through the pages of books.
And of the little waves that skip and never once look back,
And of stars coming and going.
Hands fluttering past like autumn leaves….
I am tired of the going—the going;
And I am tired of passing people.