| Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). Poetry: A Magazine of Verse. 1912–22. | | | | The Masseur | | By Joseph Warren Beach |
| | From “Dry Points”
IN a chamber choked with shadows | |
| The dim light overhead | |
| Reveals a ghostly figure | |
| Bent down above my bed; | |
| A figure dim and priestly, | 5 |
| Soft-footed and discreet, | |
| With sacramental beard and eyes | |
| Above his winding sheet. | |
| |
| His eyes are close and narrow | |
| And shaded from the light, | 10 |
| But something strange and eerie | |
| Yet glitters to my sight. | |
| His voice is soft and toneless, | |
| With a hint of faraway | |
| Uncanny resonances heard | 15 |
| Beyond our night and day. | |
| |
| His fingers strong and skilful, | |
| That follow every curve, | |
| Wake quivers of sensation | |
| In each remotest nerve. | 20 |
| And ever, as he passes | |
| His palms along my skin, | |
| He goes on speaking grave and still | |
| Of Satan and of sin. | |
| |
| And out of the prophet Daniel | 25 |
| And out of John the seer, | |
| He proves the Second Coming | |
| And how it draweth near. | |
| He strips the scarlet woman | |
| And lays the dragon bare, | 30 |
| And shows me Armageddon red | |
| About us everywhere. . . . . . | |
| His voice grows faint and fainter. | |
| His face I cannot see. | |
| A flush of warmth and drowsiness | 35 |
| Flows up and covers me. | |
| My waking soul goes under | |
| In gradual eclipse … | |
| I sleep, and dream of judgment day, | |
| And dread Apocalypse. | 40 | | | |
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