Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.
Ode to Myself Trying to SleepMarjorie Meeker
D
Each delicate filament,
Reaching into too many places,
Finding forgotten faces …
Draw in the long twisting thoughts you have sent.
About things that don’t matter;
Strange, that you lie here pondering …
And outside, the raindrops patter,
A fog is on the town,
And over the river
The drenched lights cross and quiver,
And the far harsh rumble of trams goes up and down.
Once, like a small song that sings and sings,
Happiness crept through you;
Once, love seemed the reason for things;
And once you thought
Peace had come upon you….
Each delicate filament,
Quivering and bright;
Draw in the long twisting thoughts you have sent.
Cast all the tangled old dreaming and groping
To the still, deep,
Strange heart of Night
(Gentle forever to all grieving and hoping)—
And sleep.