| Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). Poetry: A Magazine of Verse. 1912–22. | | | | Running Vines in a Field | | By H. L. Davis |
| | From “Primapara”
LOOK up, you loose-haired women in the field, | |
| From work, and thoughtless picking at the ground. | |
| Cease for a little: pay me a little heed. | |
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| It is early: the red leaves of the blackberry vines | |
| Are hoar with frosty dew, the ground’s still wet, | 5 |
| There is vapor over toward the summer fallow. | |
| And you three make a garden, being put by— | |
| Since you are too old for love you make a garden? | |
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| It is love with me, and not these dark red frosty leaves | |
| The vines of which you root for garden-space. | 10 |
| You will be concerned, you three used up and set by: | |
| I could speak of the red vines, of pastures, of young trees; | |
| And you would dibble at love as you do the vine-roots. | |
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| It is early, but before your backs be warmed, | |
| And before all this dew be cleared and shed, | 15 |
| I shall be half among your hearts with speech: | |
| Love, and my sorrow, the disastrous passages, | |
| So that you’ll cease all gardening, dangle dark red | |
| Vines in your hands not knowing it, and whisper. | |
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| They forget me for a little pride of old time. | 20 | | | |
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