Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.
The MysticWitter Bynner
B
We walked. The native wine
In clusters grew beside us two,
For your lips and for mine,
Or a bubbling spring we heard?”
But I was wise and closed my eyes
And listened to a bird;
With singers passing through,
So moves in me continually
The wingèd breath of you.
And took from that your fill—
But I inclined to every kind,
All seven on one hill.