Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.
Lullaby of the OutcastRuth Tenney
From “In China”
C
They have beaten me, and cast me out of the village—
Sleep, my own.
His sleeves were of silk and his hair shone in the dusk.
Sleep, my son—may you never know pain.
Far off, the village dogs bay to the night—
Sleep, my own.
Toward the city of merciful strangers.
There I will bow down beside the great gate,
Begging of all who enter in;
Till they, seeing you in my arms,
Little one, little prince clothed in rags,
Must pity us with a great pity and fling us alms.
May you never know pain.