Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.
Old AgeAlva N. Turner
D
The fountain is bending low.
It is being filled with emptiness.
The day is spilling its light.
Bending the unyielding knee.
There’s a tremor
In the thought of height—
The snow of the years is fallen.
The black shadows are toppling
Over into thin waters.
When thou art removed
From the fountain,
Thy thirst will cease to be
A burden.
A vision shall fill the night.