Page:Anthology of Magazine Verse (1921).djvu/93
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Yet we shall brood upon this haunt of wings
When love, like perfume washed away in rain,
Dies in the years. Still we shall turn again,
Seeking the clouds as we have sought the sea,
Asking the peace of these immortal things
That will not mix with our mortality.
When love, like perfume washed away in rain,
Dies in the years. Still we shall turn again,
Seeking the clouds as we have sought the sea,
Asking the peace of these immortal things
That will not mix with our mortality.
The New RepublicFrank Ernest Hill
TO ROBINSON CRUSOE
So to be loved and listened to and touched
By crowds of moist-fingered little folks
With eyes of wonder—who would save his life
And hug an English hearth for seventy years,
When to be shipwrecked is to live forever?
You thought you were dead to the world, but you were wrong,
Old Crusoe, when you bobbed up on that isle
Of curious creatures waiting to be tamed,
And lonely footprints waiting for a friend.
Dreaming of cobbled streets you fought your way
Alone, and built your little brave stockade;
Sick for a roof in England, long dumb hours
You smoked your pipe out by your unshared fire;
You thought that all was over, never guessed
You were piling years up, looking to the days
When little children would not let you die!
By crowds of moist-fingered little folks
With eyes of wonder—who would save his life
And hug an English hearth for seventy years,
When to be shipwrecked is to live forever?
You thought you were dead to the world, but you were wrong,
Old Crusoe, when you bobbed up on that isle
Of curious creatures waiting to be tamed,
And lonely footprints waiting for a friend.
Dreaming of cobbled streets you fought your way
Alone, and built your little brave stockade;
Sick for a roof in England, long dumb hours
You smoked your pipe out by your unshared fire;
You thought that all was over, never guessed
You were piling years up, looking to the days
When little children would not let you die!
Smith's MagazineMarie Louise Hersey
78