| Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). Poetry: A Magazine of Verse. 1912–22. | | | | To Vouletti | | By Mercedes de Acosta |
| | From “Through Windows”
THERE is not a leaf grown, | |
| Not a breeze that’s blown, | |
| Not a sweet fragrant tree, | |
| That is not you to me. | |
| |
| In the sunlight I feel your smile, | 5 |
| In the moonlight, the whole long while, | |
| I feel the pressure of your hand, | |
| And feeling this I understand. | |
| |
| I understand all sacred things, | |
| The depths of life, the secret wings | 10 |
| That carry beyond the dreary way, | |
| Turning dark to light, and night to day. | |
| |
| All things fine, and straight, and true, | |
| I know better because of you; | |
| While your sweetness is like a warm fresh shower, | 15 |
| And your face and soul like a sun-kissed flower. | | | | |
|
|
