Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.
Hand on a HarpEllwood Colahan
L
That glide and skim in the twilight
Above the pale gold of the river,
Touching the surface so lightly
That the smooth glints of the little ringlets
Might elude me—
Except that I love them …
Her hands,
All shadow and rose in the flickering light of the fire,
Flit dream-like over the golden strings,
Dipping with exquisite faintness
Till the circles of sound
Would filter away to the heavy darkness—
Except that I love them.