Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.
Love SongsHarriet Monroe
To give it to thee like a flower,
So it may pleasure thee to dwell
Deep in its perfume but an hour.
I love my life, but not too well.
To sing it note by note away,
So to thy soul the song may tell
The beauty of the desolate day.
I love my life, but not too well.
To cast it like a cloak on thine,
Against the storms that sound and swell
Between thy lonely heart and mine.
I love my life, but not too well.
The little rainbows play in.
Your love is like a mountain cave
Cool shadows darkly stay in.
It soothes like softest singing.
It bears me where clear rivers are,
With reeds and rushes swinging;
Or out to pearly shores afar
Where temple bells are ringing.
That we must love and part?
Ah, if you only knew
The gladness in my heart!
I look upon the sun,
He loves me! I shall say,
Now is my life begun.
On the dark verge of sleep
The rapture will alight
And to my bosom creep.
A keener joy implore.
My soul shall feel no care—
Until you love no more.