Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.
NocturneMarjorie Allen Seiffert
From “Gallery of Paintings”
T
And the black trees
Where a hidden bird
Sings and is still—
Even these
Leave me unstirred.
Like the secret bough
Of a tree in leaf.
I am safe asleep—
What can touch me now
Of joy or grief?
The sky is shut,
The winds are dumb;
Behind the moon
No gates are cut
For the winds to come.
Sweep down until,
Like a winter tree,
My leaves were strewn
On the moonlit hill
And I stood free,
Would touch me now
With bitter cold,
As moonbeams rain
Through a naked bough
When the year is old.