Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.
Farmers BloodWinifred Webb
To My Grandmother
T
To live there any longer. And so the farm was sold.
Made no complaint against the life upon the narrow street;
But many times you stole away all by yourself to stand,
Here by the upper window, where the wide and lovely land
Sweeps to the farmhouse gleaming white upon the wooded hill,
Just looking off with yearning eyes, quite patient, very still.
The dogs come barking o’er the snow, the reapers toss the grain!