| Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). Poetry: A Magazine of Verse. 1912–22. | | | | Among the Rodins | | By John Cournos |
| | | IF I were a man of Herculaneum— | |
| A twentieth-century city | |
| Of the brooding North— | |
| And I were praying or cursing in the dark, | |
| And the lava came upon me as I prayed or cursed, | 5 |
| It would shape me like you, Prodigal Son, | |
| And my pleading and despair would stay forever | |
| In that stark gesture of two rigid, upright arms | |
| Pointing like two trees, charred and leafless, | |
| Towards the sky. | 10 |
| |
| Or if a great wind came, | |
| Winging sorrow, | |
| And blew and blew, | |
| And laid me, battling with it, prostrate; | |
| And then if the sun came in the wind’s wake, | 15 |
| And kissed my cold lips, | |
| And made my back quiver gently with revived hope, | |
| Then, Fallen Angel, I should be one with you. | |
| |
| Let the tranquil, tolerant Buddha, | |
| Towering in the background | 20 |
| Like the Fuji-yama above the pilgrims crossing a wind-swept bridge— | |
| Smile upon us all together, | |
| And breathe his eastern peace upon us. | | | | |
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