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

The Red Bridge

THE ARCHES of the red bridge

Are stronger than ever:

The arches of the scarlet bridge

Are of rough, bleak stone.

(Why should such massive arches be the span

From cloud to tenuous cloud?)

Let us not seek omens in the guts

Of newly slain fowls;

Leaving such play to the children,

Let us pluck wild swans

From under the moon;

Or, challenging strong, terrible men,

Let us slay them and seek truth

In their smoking entrails.

Let us fling runners

Across the red bridge,

Deep-lunged runners who will return to us

With tidings of the far countries

And the strange seas!

There be many terrible men

Going out upon the bridge,

Through the little door

That is by the steps from the river.