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Home  »  Poetry: A Magazine of Verse  »  Edmund Wilson, Jr.

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

Not Here

Edmund Wilson, Jr.

NOT here!—not here! I have been here too many years,

Have stumbled about the darkened room for a door,

Seeing only the phantom shafts the moonlight clears,

The broken bars of silver along the floor.

I can hear the women’s laughter, a song half blown

Away by the wind; through all the dust I can smell

A garden wet with the rain. And I am alone.

Not here, old shadows—I know you, all too well!