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

Spoon River Anthology

William H. Herndon

THERE by the window in the old house

Perched on the bluff, overlooking miles of valley,

My days of labor closed, sitting out life’s decline,

Day by day did I look in my memory,

As one who gazes in an enchantress’ crystal globe,

And I saw the figures of the past,

As if in a pageant glassed by a shining dream,

Move through the incredible sphere of time.

And I saw a man arise from the soil like a fabled giant

And throw himself over a deathless destiny,

Master of great armies, head of the republic,

Bringing together into a dithyramb of recreative song

The epic hopes of a people;

At the same time Vulcan of sovereign fires,

Where imperishable shields and swords were beaten out

From spirits tempered in heaven.

Look in the crystal! See how he hastens on

To the place where his path comes up to the path

Of a child of Plutarch and

Shakespeare.

O Lincoln, actor indeed, playing well your part,

And Booth, who strode in a mimic play within the play,

Often and often I saw you,

As the cawing crows winged their way to the wood

Over my house-top at solemn sunsets,

There by my window,

Alone.