| Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). Poetry: A Magazine of Verse. 1912–22. | | | | Farmer’s Blood | | By Winifred Webb |
| | To My Grandmother
THEY said it was too hard for you, who were alone and old, | |
| To live there any longer. And so the farm was sold. | |
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| And you, to whom the wind had blown across the yellow wheat, | |
| Made no complaint against the life upon the narrow street; | |
| But many times you stole away all by yourself to stand, | 5 |
| Here by the upper window, where the wide and lovely land | |
| Sweeps to the farmhouse gleaming white upon the wooded hill, | |
| Just looking off with yearning eyes, quite patient, very still. | |
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| Ah, nevermore for you the herd should wind along the lane, | |
| The dogs come barking o’er the snow, the reapers toss the grain! | 10 | | | |
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