Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.
DomesticIris Barry
S
Having read
By the fireside
Through a long evening,
I look up.
The old people
Apathetically
Are sitting,
The dim eyes gazing
In the past
That seems so good.
And then pity
Dews all my sight.
For old age
Is the guerdon,
The only laurels,
Of their life.
And mine, uncrowned,
So far away,
I cannot cry
“Hail!”