Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.
A PrayerJessie MacDonald
L
Come thou near, yet not too near.
All thy laughing splendor spoils
What we daily see and fear,
What we bear, and do, and touch.
Love us still, but not too much.
Let us breathe thee through our lips.
Even now I saw thy hue
In the maple’s yellow tips,
When a leaf, so gay, so dear,
Fell—but come thou not more near.
Do thou enter in our eyes!
Touch us that we not forget:
Make us simple still, and wise.
Circling us, thy finger slips—
Let us breathe thee through our lips.