| Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). Poetry: A Magazine of Verse. 1912–22. | | | | Secrecy | | By G. O. Warren |
| | | DOWN the hushed corridors of your dim soul | |
| Lonely I go, and, yearning, pause by each closed door. | |
| They stand so blind, indifferent, while no sound, | |
| No breath escapes to tell me of your more, | |
| |
| Your less; immensities or nothingness. | 5 |
| But there is one apart, close-barred and rusted in, | |
| Shrouded by years, your hand has never moved | |
| To open. Have you heaven in there, or sin? | |
| |
| From all the other secrecies in you, | |
| Despairing, I return to this, and weep and lean…. | 10 |
| Here terror of your hiding burns like fire, | |
| The doubt of what will be—and what has been. | | | | |
|
|
