Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.
Love Is More Cruel Than DeathMaurice Browne
For H
I
I would place it in your hand;
From the tree of life I would pluck it
In Eden land.
I would fashion it in the flame
And inlay letters upon it
And a star’s name.
I would grave for you with my pen
The learning and loneliness and yearning
And wisdom of men.
My mother’s son, the brother of me,
The friend I wear in my heart,
For fair is he;
He is fair, but far to seek,
And free.
No help, no healing, no gift for you,
Nothing, nothing, save no word spoken
Between us two.