Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.
AconH. D.
And to the steep slopes;
To the river Erymanthus.
Cyperum frail of flower,
Buds of myrrh,
All-healing herbs,
Close pressed in Kalathoi.
Drawing sharp breath,
Broken with harsh sobs,
She, Hyella,
Whom no god pitieth.
Haunting the groves,
Nereids
Who dwell in wet caves,
For all the whitish leaves of olive-branch,
And early roses,
And ivy wreaths, woven gold berries,
Which she once brought to your altars,
Bear now ripe fruits from Arcadia,
And Assyrian wine
To shatter her fever.
As a hyacinth,
Hidden in a far valley,
Perishes upon burnt grass.
Bring gifts,
Bring you Phoenician stuffs,
And do you, fleet-footed nymphs,
Bring offerings,
Illyrian iris,
And a branch of shrub,
And frail-headed poppies.