| Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). Poetry: A Magazine of Verse. 1912–22. | | | | Reflections | | By Babette Deutsch |
| | From “Semper Eadem”
YOUR eyes were strange with sorrow: were there tears | |
| That touched their color to such troubled light? | |
| Those mirrors wherein mine had shone so bright | |
| Refused the image, looking on the years, | |
| Like naked runners running upon spears, | 5 |
| That showed so impotently few tonight— | |
| The pageant of a passion men requite | |
| With death, and freedom whose chief wage is fears. | |
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| I would have outstared sorrow in your eyes, | |
| But looking on them, mine reflected yours | 10 |
| As the most lucid pool shows stormy skies, | |
| Cloud facing cloud, when deepest calm endures. | |
| And though my lips had drunk your bitter wine, | |
| You would have tasted bitterer, touching mine. | | | | |
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