| Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917. |
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| 206. Apology |
| | | By Amy Lowell |
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| BE not angry with me that I bear | |
| Your colors everywhere, | |
| All through each crowded street, | |
| And meet | |
| The wonder-light in every eye, | 5 |
| As I go by. | |
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| Each plodding wayfarer looks up to gaze, | |
| Blinded by rainbow-haze, | |
| The stuff of happiness, | |
| No less, | 10 |
| Which wraps me in its glad-hued folds | |
| Of peacock golds. | |
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| Before my feet the dusty, rough-paved way | |
| Flushes beneath its gray. | |
| My steps fall ringed with light, | 15 |
| So bright | |
| It seems a myriad suns are strown | |
| About the town. | |
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| Around me is the sound of steepled bells, | |
| And rich perfumèd smells | 20 |
| Hang like a wind-forgotten cloud, | |
| And shroud | |
| Me from close contact with the world. | |
| I dwell, impearled. | |
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| You blazon me with jewelled insignia. | 25 |
| A flaming nebula | |
| Rims in my life. And yet | |
| You set | |
| The word upon me, unconfessed, | |
| To go unguessed. | 30 |
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