Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.
Traümerei at OstendorffsWilliam Laird
I
With eager golden eyes, paired with a red,
Bald, chilled, old man. Piercing the clatter came
Keen Traümerei. On the sound he bowed his head,
Covered his eyes, and looked on things long sped.
Her white fierce fingers strained, but could not stir
His close-locked hands, nor bring him back to her.
A fairer lass than you, with all your fire:
Let him alone; he touches sweeter lips
Than yours he hired, as others yet shall hire:
Leave him the quickening pang of clean desire,
Even though vain: nor taint those spring winds blown
From banks of perished bloom: let him alone.
Love from the hostile dark, would God thy breath
Might break upon him now through thickening mist,
The trumpet-summons of imperial Death;
That now, with fire-clean lips where quivereth
Atoning sorrow, he shall seek the eyes
Long turned towards earth from fields of paradise.
Men may be deaf a space to gross behests
Of nearer voices; for some little while
Sharp pains of youth may burn in old men’s breasts.
But—men must eat, though angels be their guests:
The waiter brought spaghetti; he looked up,
Hemmed, blinked, and fiddled with his coffee-cup.