Page:Anthology of Magazine Verse (1921).djvu/51
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III
If Death had taken my orange-tree,
Its gold-lit boughs, and magic birds
Singing for me,
I would not bear, though bright the dead,
This daunted head.
If Death had taken my orange-tree,
Its gold-lit boughs, and magic birds
Singing for me,
I would not bear, though bright the dead,
This daunted head.
If Death had taken the one whose care
My fortune feeds, my roof endows,—
Leaving me bare,—
I'd meet the world from some kind door,
Gay as before.
My fortune feeds, my roof endows,—
Leaving me bare,—
I'd meet the world from some kind door,
Gay as before.
If Death had taken my friend, the god,
Who walks among us masked as man,
Wearing the clod
To find his brother, I could live,
Love and forgive.
Who walks among us masked as man,
Wearing the clod
To find his brother, I could live,
Love and forgive.
But she was Beauty; planets swing,
And ages toil, that one like her
May make dust sing;
And I, who held her hand, must go
Alone, and know.
And ages toil, that one like her
May make dust sing;
And I, who held her hand, must go
Alone, and know.
Scribner's MagazineOlive Tilford Dargan
UNREALITY
Through the window-pane I see your face,
Its outline a little vague
In the dimness of the shadow.
But the whiteness of your skin
Is like a clean ship's sail,
With the rays of a thousand moonbeams sweeping over
Standing out in the darkness of a night.
Its outline a little vague
In the dimness of the shadow.
But the whiteness of your skin
Is like a clean ship's sail,
With the rays of a thousand moonbeams sweeping over
Standing out in the darkness of a night.
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