Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.
Running Vines in a FieldH. L. Davis
L
From work, and thoughtless picking at the ground.
Cease for a little: pay me a little heed.
Are hoar with frosty dew, the ground’s still wet,
There is vapor over toward the summer fallow.
And you three make a garden, being put by—
Since you are too old for love you make a garden?
The vines of which you root for garden-space.
You will be concerned, you three used up and set by:
I could speak of the red vines, of pastures, of young trees;
And you would dibble at love as you do the vine-roots.
And before all this dew be cleared and shed,
I shall be half among your hearts with speech:
Love, and my sorrow, the disastrous passages,
So that you’ll cease all gardening, dangle dark red
Vines in your hands not knowing it, and whisper.