Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.
NotesJane Heap
I go forth at morn
A-quiver with life I sing:
The world and I, new-born.
Then when I see all rampant growing
Beds of tulips o’er the plain,
Like pools and lakes of color glowing,
I would fain
Outstrip all speed, run
Naked in the sun,
Plunge, riot, be immersed,
Quench this color-thirst!
Where go the birds when the rain
Roars and sweeps and fells the grain,
When tortured trees groan with pain,
And the storm-worn night is old—
Driven forth from their slumber cold,
Where go the birds?