Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.
NadirJohn Crawford
From “Night”
I
Of this lonely city …
…………
A gold fish in a bowl,
Lowered into a lake,
Would feel the sleeping presence of fish
Even as I
Feel life withdrawn, suspended….
Like a remembered song of violins
And oboes
After a dance.
…………
Even the sound of my footsteps
Dies in the snow.