Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.

In the Moonlight

“O LONELY workman, standing there

In a dream, why do you stare and stare

At her grave, as no other grave there were?

“If your great gaunt eyes so importune

Her soul by the shine of this corpse-cold moon,

Maybe you’ll raise her phantom soon!”

“Why, fool, it is what I would rather see

Than all the living folk there be;

But alas, there is no such joy for me!”

“Ah—she was one you loved, no doubt,

Through good and evil, through rain and drought,

And when she passed, all your sun went out?”

“Nay: she was the woman I did not love,

Whom all the others were ranked above,

Whom during her life I thought nothing of.”