Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.
AglavaineLewis Worthington Smith
A
They gave him the foulest room.
He, with a heart to win
Love like the rose for bloom,
Slept with the rustling straw for bed
And cobwebbed rafters overhead.
Kept revel all night long.
The bar-maid was their toast,
The devil’s flings their song.
Still through the noise he heard the leaves
Tossed in the wind against the eaves.
Chant in the church unseen,
Then, with a heart of fire
For beauty fine and clean,
Ate where a clown might loathe to dine,
While all his fellows reeled with wine.
Short was their speech and curt.
He of the tender chin,
Lonely and worn and hurt,
Saw through his window-round of sky
God’s pageantry of stars go by.
Taking the morning road.
His was the course begun,
His but the firstling load.
They travel far and sup with sin
Who find good quarters at an inn.