| Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). Poetry: A Magazine of Verse. 1912–22. | | | | Pierrot Sings | | By John Pierre Roche |
| | | THE EARTH lies stark in its dreary shroud— | |
| As dead as the buds that flowered in May. | |
| The moon is wrapped in a fleeting cloud: | |
| Oh, for the sound of your voice! | |
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| You had love in your voice | 5 |
| So thrillingly true | |
| That the pipes of Pan | |
| Were an echo of you! | |
| |
| My heart grows cold in fright of the blast— | |
| Like the cry of a loon in a haunted house | 10 |
| Is the voice of the wind as it rushes past: | |
| Oh, for the clasp of your hand! | |
| |
| You had June in your heart, | |
| And beauty so rare | |
| That the roses of God | 15 |
| Bent low in despair. | |
| |
| My soul is numbed by the chill of the night; | |
| A mourner lone on a lonely hill | |
| I stand and watch a phantom light: | |
| Oh, for the touch of your lips! | 20 | | | |
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