Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.
To a Dead Mouse in a TrapRoy Temple House
W
Some who are human, grow to presbyopes
And set lack-lustre eyes on distant stars
And infinite impersonals: the children
Who worship gilt and sugar, break their gods
(Breaking their hearts with every bitter blow),
And pin their faith to others; till at last,
Finding this life a plated thing, they turn
To Heaven, to a listless second choice.
Who, loving God and gossip, prayers and gold,
Float smoothly here and yonder, like the bee
Who, finding that bloom dry, falls into this one.
And, failing of such versatility,
I have been tempted now and then to call
Happy a young lieutenant I have known,
Who held both arms out to the Long-desired
And clasped the bloody earth with those two arms.
Tiny crushed glutton, I half envy you.