Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.
Songs for a ViolinGlenn Ward Dresbach
In the wind and the sun by the sea;
And the sea was silver and jade,
And pearl where the breakers played—
Like children strange and wild
In a pagan ecstasy.
And the child cried out to his mother,
“Oh, let me play in the sea!”
But I heard the voice of the mother,
Weary with waiting long:
“Hush, my child, come near to me—
The sea is cruel and strong!”
And a fragrance stirred to me,
And I knew that I touched a rose,
Although I could not see.
In the dark, if you were dead.
As I knew the rose I would know
Your soul and be comforted.
Upon an island far at sea,
Shipwrecked, alone; and I have seen
White sails beyond the call of me,
Have seen them pass—to what fair skies
Beyond the hunger of my eyes?
So, when the tomb is over me,
You who in life could never give
The things that with the dead may live,
Come all alone, and silently
Give unto me at close of day
A red rose for your lips I pressed
So oft in dreams, and bending low,
Give me a lily for your breast:
The dead may know!