| Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). Poetry: A Magazine of Verse. 1912–22. | | | | The Monkey | | By Nancy Campbell |
| | | I SAW you hunched and shivering on the stones | |
| The bleak wind piercing to your fragile bones, | |
| Your shabby scarlet all inadequate: | |
| A little ape that had such human eyes | |
| They seemed to hide behind their miseries— | 5 |
| Their dumb and hopeless bowing down to fate— | |
| Some puzzled wonder. Was your monkey soul | |
| Sickening with memories of gorgeous days, | |
| Of tropic playfellows and forest ways, | |
| Where, agile, you could swing from bole to bole | 10 |
| In an enchanted twilight with great flowers | |
| For stars; or on a bough the long night hours | |
| Sit out in rows, and chatter at the moon? | |
| Shuffling you went, your tiny chilly hand | |
| Outstretched for what you did not understand; | 15 |
| Your puckered mournful face begging a boon | |
| That but enslaved you more. They who passed by | |
| Saw nothing sorrowful; gave laugh or stare, | |
| Unheeding that the little antic there | |
| Played in the gutter such a tragedy. | 20 | | | |
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