Jessie B. Rittenhouse, ed. (1869–1948). The Little Book of Modern Verse. 1917.
Bliss Carman
Why
F
Whose fame unblown
Sleeps in the hills
For ever and aye;
The stir of the years
Go by on the wind
By night and day;
Of the needs of Spring,
Of Autumn’s wonder
Or Winter’s chill;
The great sun freeze,
As he wanders a-cold
From hill to hill;
Is a woven part
Of the flurry and drift
Of whirling snow;
Sad eyes and true,
And the old, old love
So long ago.