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

Fireflies in the Corn

A woman taunts her lover:
LOOK at the little darlings in the corn!

The rye is taller than you, who think yourself

So high and mighty: look how its heads are borne

Dark and proud on the sky, like a number of knights

Passing with spears and pennants and manly scorn.

And always likely!—Oh, if I could ride

With my head held high-serene against the sky

Do you think I’d have a creature like you at my side

With your gloom and your doubt that you love me? O darling rye,

How I adore you for your simple pride!

And those bright fireflies wafting in between

And over the swaying cornstalks, just above

All their dark-feathered helmets, like little green

Stars come low and wandering here for love

Of this dark earth, and wandering all serene—!

How I adore you, you happy things, you dears,

Riding the air and carrying all the time

Your little lanterns behind you: it cheers

My heart to see you settling and trying to climb

The corn-stalks, tipping with fire their spears.

All over the corn’s dim motion, against the blue

Dark sky of night, the wandering glitter, the swarm

Of questing brilliant things:—you joy, you true

Spirit of careless joy: ah, how I warm

My poor and perished soul at the joy of you!

The man answers and she mocks:
You’re a fool, woman. I love you, and you know I do!

—Lord, take his love away, it makes him whine.

And I give you everything that you want me to.

—Lord, dear Lord, do you think he ever can shine?