Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.
When Singing April CameIsabel McKinney
W
And love-of-liberty, perennial,
Pushed up its costly crimson through the sod
In every sheltered garden. April sang,
As ever, matings of unnumbered birds,
And all the shy and sweet imaginings
Of woods and fields, the beauty and the hope
Of the live world; but piercing clear and sad
In the swift wind, and in the vibrant light,
Even in the throbbing notes of orioles,
She sang of death, and rang a challenge out;
And the red flower flamed high beneath her words:
They are made foul with blood.
Oh, sorrow for the beauty of earth,
For glowing orchards and quivering fields,
For jeweled cities humming in the sun!—
They are laid waste and desolate.
Oh, sorrow for the beauty of young souls
Hiding their vessels of fire beneath their cloaks!
The great wind has torn their mantles away,
And filled the heaven with burning,
And wrapped them in a winding-sheet of flame.”