| Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). Poetry: A Magazine of Verse. 1912–22. | | | | Margarette | | By Alva N. Turner |
| | | SHE’S a clever little witch, | |
| And knows it; | |
| But it has not spoiled her heart. | |
| |
| The beauty of her tressed head | |
| Is enhanced by the cunning of her fingers. | 5 |
| Her piquant and mobile face | |
| Reflects | |
| The sunshine of her soul, | |
| And betrays the clouds of it. | |
| I like to study her face. | 10 |
| Her sky-blue eyes | |
| Vie with the softness | |
| Of the summer heavens, | |
| When the nimbus has fled | |
| And cumulus dreams on the sky-line. | 15 |
| |
| The naif beauty of her white teeth | |
| Remains intact, | |
| And laughs | |
| At the dedal ruse of the dentist. | |
| |
| Last Sunday, at the spring | 20 |
| Which pours its potable silver | |
| For the mendicant town of Spring Garden, | |
| She said with a smile, | |
| Before Lillian and the others, | |
| That she believed | 25 |
| She’d made a great hit with me. | |
| I mocked the smile of her, | |
| And confessed that she had. | |
| |
| She’s twenty and I’m forty— | |
| But that’s no difference to her; | 30 |
| For she’s a clever little witch, | |
| And knows it. | | | | |
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