| Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). Poetry: A Magazine of Verse. 1912–22. | | | | The Death of an Artist | | By Florence Kilpatrick Mixter |
| | | “I TIRE of looking at the sea,” he said. | |
| “The composition’s bad; it needs a tree | |
| Within the line of vision where the red | |
| Of sunset pales before immensity. | |
| There’s too much water and there’s too much sky | 5 |
| Without a frame to hold them in their place, | |
| And not enough of shore to rest the eye | |
| Or any little thing to shatter space. | |
| If I were painting it”—he suddenly smiled— | |
| “You’d come upon it almost unaware; | 10 |
| Down avenues of green your soul, beguiled, | |
| Would yield the sea a glance and find it fair. | |
| How swiftly then the spirit would go free!…. | |
| I tire,” he said, “of looking at the sea.” | | | | |
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