Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.
Dog-fennelH. L. Davis
T
And the soft-stemmed grass broken and raked to kindle them.
Rain beats a little light dust up from the sand.
This is the time when birds come to pick the grass-seed
Exposed, white on the ground sweetened with dead roots
Grown since you marked the scoured furrows with your name.
You made prints of your breasts here when you were lately grown,
But they are beaten out; and all the dog-fennel
Is burned, that stung your eyes with its white bitter dust.
O dead sister, your pride keeps seasons like the birds.