Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.
ImagesRichard Aldington
Drifting along the dank canals at Venice,
You, O exquisite one,
Have entered my desolate city.
Like swirling clouds of birds vanishing.
So my love leaps forth towards you,
Vanishes and is renewed.
When the sunset is faint vermilion
In the mist among the tree-boughs,
Art thou to me.
Stands still in the evening,
Yet shudders through all its leaves in the light air
And seems to fear the stars—
So are you still and so tremble.
They are beyond the last pine trees.
And my desires have run with them.
Is soon filled again with rain;
So does my mind fill slowly with misgiving
Until you return.