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Home  »  Poetry: A Magazine of Verse  »  Stella Benson

Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.

If You Were Careless

Stella Benson

IF you were careless ever, if ever a thing you missed

In the forest—a serpent twist

Of shadow, ensnaring the star-lit way of a tree;

If at your wrist

The pulse rang never, never, to the slow bells of the sea;

If a star, quick-carven in frost and in amethyst,

Shone on the thin, thin finger of dawn, you turning away your face:

You shall be sorry, sorry, for when you die,

Those three

Shall follow and follow and find you

As you go through the Difficult Place.

The strong snake-shadows shall bind you,

The swords of the stars shall blind you,

And the terrible bells of the sea shall crash and cry;

The bells of the sea shall ring you out from under the sky,

In a lost grave to lie

Under the ashes of space.

Ah, never look back, run fast, you impotent passer-by!—

Those three

Run behind you.