| Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917. |
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| 374. The Son |
| | | By Ridgely Torrence |
| | | | | Southern Ohio Market Town |
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| I HEARD an old farm-wife, | |
| Selling some barley, | |
| Mingle her life with life | |
| And the name “Charley.” | |
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| Saying: “The crop’s all in, | 5 |
| We’re about through now; | |
| Long nights will soon begin, | |
| We’re just us two now. | |
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| “Twelve bushel at sixty cents, | |
| It’s all I carried— | 10 |
| He sickened making fence; | |
| He was to be married— | |
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| “It feels like frost was near— | |
| His hair was curly. | |
| The spring was late that year, | 15 |
| But the harvest early.” | |
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