Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.
Triumph of the SingerJohn Hall Wheelock
I
For the joy within me that knows no bounds.
I echo backward the vibrant beauty
Wherewith heaven’s hollow lute resounds.
On the feet of all shed out like wine;
On the whole and the hurt I shed my bounty,
The beauty within me that is not mine.
Who bear the secret that holds the sky
And the stars together; but know within me
There speaks another more wise than I.
Yet hate me here if you will. Not so
Myself you hate, but the love within me
That loves you whether you would or no.
And beauty unto the heart thereof,
And hatred unto the heart of the hater,
Whether he would or no, with love!