Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.
One of the CrowdWitter Bynner
O
To see the fauns come out and play,
To see a satyr try to seize
A dryad’s waist—and bark his knees,
To see a river-nymph waylay
And shock him with a dash of spray!—
And I teased, like a child, by brooks and trees:
“Come back again! We need you! Please!
Come back and teach us how to play!”
But nowhere in the woods were they.
A thousand people on their way
To offices and factories—
And never a single soul at ease;
And how could I help but sigh and say:
“What can it profit them, how can it pay
To strain the eye with rivalries
Until the dark is all it sees?—
Or to manage, more than others may,
To store the wasted gain away?”
With pointed brows. I heard him say:
“Out of the meadows and rivers and trees
We fauns and many companies
Of nymphs have come. And we are these,
These people, each upon his way,
Looking for work, working for pay—
And paying all our energies
To earn true love … For, seeming gay,
“Once we were sad,” I heard him say.