| Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). Poetry: A Magazine of Verse. 1912–22. | | | | A Portrait | | By Mildred Weston |
| | | HIS eyes can be quite old and stern, | |
| But I have often watched them yearn | |
| Over an animal in pain; | |
| And I have seen him through the rain | |
| Carry young lambs into the fold. | 5 |
| If a September night turns cold | |
| He leaves his sleep, and in the gloom | |
| Covers the bushes that might bloom. | |
| I know that when his eyes grow dim | |
| The first young bud will shout to him; | 10 |
| For in the spring I see him kneel | |
| Upon the rigid earth, and feel | |
| With gentle hands among the leaves. | |
| No glistening rim of frost deceives | |
| His instinct for arbutus flowers. | 15 |
| He sings, during his working hours, | |
| In a young voice a rousing song, | |
| And sweeps the lagging work along. | |
| To the delighted earth he brings | |
| Abounding love of living things, | 20 |
| So when he climbs the slopes to meet | |
| The rising sun, they kiss his feet! | | | | |
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