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

Star-Magic

THOUGH your beauty be a flower

Of unimagined loveliness,

It cannot lure me tonight;

For I am all spirit.

As in the billowy oleander,

Full-bloomed,

Each blossom is all but lost

In the next—

One flame in a glow

Of green-veined rhodonite;

So is heaven a crystal magnificence

Of stars

Powdered lightly with blue.

For this one night

My spirit has turned honey-moth

And has made of the stars

Its flowers.

So all uncountable are the stars

That heaven shimmers as a web,

Bursting with light

From beyond,

A light exquisite,

Immeasurable!

For this one night

My spirit has dared, and been caught

In the web of the stars.

Though your beauty were a net

Of unimagined power,

It could not hold me tonight;

For I am all spirit.