Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.
DefeatEunice Tietjens
From “Facets”
I
Has that slow gesture still.
That had gone quietly these many months
And happily, securely, beat its way
Glad to be free of the old instancy—
My heart betrayed me.
Cowardly it stopped;
And then it leaped,
And the old Panic hoofbeats thundered in my ears.
When old love will not die?
And shall I conquer all things,
Thrusting up, through the intolerable pain of growth,
Until my soul
Leaps wingéd to the sunset’s rim—
Only at last to break myself on love,
And fall a-trembling like an aching girl
Because he has a beautiful, slow hand?