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

I Give Thanks

THERE’S one that I once loved so much

I am no more the same.

I give thanks for that transforming touch.

I tell you not his name.

He has become a sign to me

For flowers and for fire.

For song he is a sign to me

And for the broken lyre.

And I have known him in a book

And never touched his hand.

And he is dead—I need not look

For him through his green land.

Heaven may not be. I have no faith,

But this desire I have—

To take my soul on my last breath,

To lift it like a wave,

And surge unto his star and say,

His friendship had been heaven;

And pray, for clouds that closed his day

May light at last be given!

And say, he shone at noon so bright

I learned to run and rejoice!

And beg him for one last delight—

The true sound of his voice.

There’s one that once moved me so much

I am no more the same;

And I pray I too, I too, may touch

Some heart with singing flame.