Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.
The Long HillSara Teasdale
From “Memories”
I
And now I am going down.
Strange to have crossed the crest and not to know—
But the brambles were always catching the hem of my gown.
To stand there straight as a queen—
Wrapped in the wind and the sun, with the world under me.
But the air was dull, there was little I could have seen.
And the brambles caught in my gown—
But it’s no use now to think of turning back,
The rest of the way will be only going down.