Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.
QuiltsMary Willis Shuey
T
A quilt of pink roses, and tiny careful stitches.
It goes in my chest, for in October I marry.
And Great-aunt Elizabeth pieced it for her own chest.
She pieced it with trembling hands, for her lover had gone
To fight with the South.
Elizabeth filled in the long days with squares of pink,
Fitting the pattern together with quick, nervous fingers;
Roses of pink, for love and a bride.
She finished it long afterwards, when war
Had taken all she had but memories.
She pieced her life into a pink-rose quilt
When war was making patch-work of her soul.
A quilt of pink roses with stems of green, for a bride.
But I see all the time the splotch of blood in the roses.