Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.
Four Poems in Unrhymed CadenceF. S. Flint
it is not the sunset
nor the pale green sky
shimmering through the curtain
of the silver birch,
nor the quietness;
it is not the hopping
of the little birds
upon the lawn,
nor the darkness
stealing over all things
that moves me.
over the tree-tops
among the stars,
I think of her
and the glow her passing
sheds on men.
I will climb
into the branches
to the moonlit tree-tops,
that my blood may be cooled
by the wind.
you sit there
in the corner of the carriage;
and you do not know me;
and your eyes forbid.
the wear of human bodies,
and the dead faces of our neighbors?
These are but symbols.
your mouth is set; you see beyond us;
and you see nothing.
and of the black hair that waves above it;
I watch you; I love you;
I desire you.
within the thud-thud of the wheels
upon the railway.
within my heart,
but tense and tender….
and the gold
and the blue and mauve
that the whin and the lilac
pour down on the water,
the fishes quiver.
and the rippled silver
and the tarnished copper
of its neck and beak,
toward the deep black water
beneath the arches,
the swan floats slowly.
and the black depth of my sorrow
bears a white rose of flame.
The grass is beneath my head;
and I gaze
at the thronging stars
in the aisles of night.
I am overwhelmed,
and afraid.
is caressed by the wind,
and each is crying.
of invisible roses
deepens the anguish.
feed the crimson of roses
upon my heart;
and then fold over the hollow
where all the pain was.