| Harriet Monroe, ed. (18601936). Poetry: A Magazine of Verse. 191222. | | | | Whence? | | By Mary Austin |
| | | I DO not know who sings my songs | |
| Before they are sung by me. | |
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| For my mind is an ordered house | |
| Where never a song should be; | |
| And the world is the sort of a place | 5 |
| That my judicious spirit grieves. | |
| Yet when my thoughts are seated round | |
| With their eyes upon the ground, | |
| The little songs come flimmering | |
| Like swallows round the eaves. | 10 |
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| And when my life is as dry as a gourd, | |
| My heart the pebble, rattled by despair, | |
| Shaken at the funeral | |
| Of all the gods that were, | |
| I stretch my thoughts in the empty room | 15 |
| And suddenly my songs are there. | | | | |
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