Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.
Two SongsGlenn Ward Dresbach
If ever it is so,
And one may seem to scorn it,
Oh, I shall let him know
That it was torn on points of stars
And gold of the rainbow!
When I am dead, oh, speak to me
No words that I have heard,
Lest to my peace come misery,
Lest my calm sleep be stirred
With want of mortal love again!
But bring a drop of April rain,
The dawn-song of a bird,
The leafy lyric of a tree,
A slender flower with its dew—
That I may dream, and seem to be
Dead to all but you!