| Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). Poetry: A Magazine of Verse. 1912–22. | | | | The Housemother | | By Karle Wilson Baker |
| | | THEY cling to the skirts of my spirit with their tiny, imperious clutch; | |
| With bonds of my love they enmesh me, woven close by their satin-soft touch. | |
| Not an hour of their clamorous waking they spare me the whole day through, | |
| Till the weight on my wings is an anguish, and I faint for the fetterless blue. | |
| Then, washed by the wild wind of freedom that sweeps from the heavenly steep, | 5 |
| I swoop from the violet spaces to hover and bless them, asleep! | |
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| I bring him his wheat-bread and honey, I run for his sandals and staff. | |
| Though the day may have drained me, at evening I must still be his goblet to quaff. | |
| Dear despot of love, little recks he of vigils untamed that I keep— | |
| I, the server, who rise from my pillow, to watch him, fulfilled and asleep. | 10 |
| Then I toss back the hair of my spirit, bare my feet for the heavenly streams, | |
| And range with him, lover and lover, hand in hand through the world of his dreams! | | | | |
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