| Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). Poetry: A Magazine of Verse. 1912–22. | | | | In Moulins Wood | | By Robert Redfield, Jr. |
| | From “War Sketches”
I WALK alone through a desolation where the stripped and beaten trees are mute, having forgot to pray. | |
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| Over the shell-holes, torn mouths of clay, hangs the smell of gas, like that of rotting pears. | |
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| Silence everywhere—save above, where the shells pass whining on invisible grooves. Surely someone is drawing heated irons across the sky. | |
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| A fearful place to walk with Solitude; my nerves ache. Are all men dead but me, or is this Death by my side? | | | | |
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