Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.
HistoryWilliam Carlos Williams
Of Uresh-Nai, priestess to the goddess Mut,
Mother of All—
The stone has taken up her spirit!
Granite over flesh: who will deny
Its advantages?
Spilled upon the ground—
Though water will mount again into rose-leaves—
But you?—would hold life still,
Even as a memory, when it is over.
Benevolence is rare.
What is writ for you in these figures,
Hard as the granite that has held them
With so soft a hand the while
Your own flesh has been fifty times
Through the guts of oxen—read!
Even though he give stingily.
The gift of some endures
Ten years, the gift of some twenty,
And the gift of some for the time a
Great house rots and is torn down.
Some give for a thousand years to men of
One country, some for a thousand
To all men, and some few to all men
While granite holds an edge against
The weather.
“Judge then of love!”
Have endured my summer. The flurry
Of falling petals is ended. I was
Well desired and fully caressed
By many lovers, but my flesh
Withered swiftly and my heart was
Never satisfied. Lay your hands
Upon the granite as a lover lays his
Hand upon the thigh and upon the
Round breasts of her who is
Beside him; for now I will not wither,
Now I have thrown off secrecy, now
I have walked naked into the street,
Now I have scattered my heavy beauty
In the open market.
Burning heart eagerly awaiting
Your caresses, whoever it may be,
For granite is not harder than
My love is open, runs loose among you!
Who have endured! I worn against
The years!”