Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.
Will It Be Like This?Miriam Allen deFord
From “Under the Cliff”
W
Climbing the hill at midnight,
While the rain seeps from the plumaged pepper-trees,
And the damp air is rank with eucalyptus;
And our little house black and untenanted,
Soundless, where your hurrying footsteps
Used to run to the door to greet me;
Black, and cold, and I alone there?
Will that be the way of it,
On that silent day when I shall begin waiting
For Death to release me to you?