| Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). Poetry: A Magazine of Verse. 1912–22. | | | | The Return | | By John Strong Newberry, trans. |
| | From “Poems by Paul Fort” Translated from the French
IVY has covered all the wall. How many hours, how many tears, since last we loved? How many years? | |
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| No roses now. Ivy has crushed the vine. Soul, whither didst thou go? Climbing across the nests of nightingales, ivy has stifled the whole chateau. | |
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| Wind, the deep wells are choked with the roses of yesterday. Is that your hiding-place, O my dead wife? | |
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| No one replies? Who would reply? Is it not best to listen to the wind that sighs through the grasses, “my sweet love”? | |
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| Flush with the roof, the ancient, crimson sun is cut through the midst so mournfully. | 5 |
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| Shall I bid the gardener come? The gardener? No. It would be better to summon Death to reap the long grass: | |
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| So many memories and so much love, and the setting sun at the level of the earth. | | | | |
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