| Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). Poetry: A Magazine of Verse. 1912–22. | | | | Recompense | | By Anne Elizabeth Wilson |
| | | YOU are growing old, my lithe and gay, | |
| But age with you is different and rare; | |
| Gray—yes, but like the mist that veils an autumn moon | |
| Stretched across the black trees’ gaunt array. | |
| Your light, now opalescent and more gently bright, | 5 |
| Makes beautiful the wintry night. | |
| Why do you long for the bronze hue of youth, | |
| Or the noisiness of its display? | |
| Let us be comforted in this sweet quietness where | |
| There is nothing loved before | 10 |
| But that our having loved so long can make more fair. | | | | |
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