| Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). Poetry: A Magazine of Verse. 1912–22. | | | | Summer in Coronado | | By Marguerite Wilkinson |
| | | GREAT sun, why are you pitiless? | |
| All day your glance is sharp and keen | |
| Upon the hills that once were green. | |
| Where summer, sere and passionless, | |
| Now lies brown-frocked against the sky | 5 |
| And makes of them her resting place, | |
| For she has drunk the valleys dry. | |
| You never turn away your face, | |
| And I, who love you, cannot bear | |
| Your long, barbaric, searching look | 10 |
| Down through the low cool flights of air— | |
| Your tirelessness I cannot brook. | |
| For all my body aches with light | |
| And you have glutted me with sight, | |
| With flooding color made me blind | 15 |
| To that which is more soft and kind; | |
| Till I have longed for clouds to roll | |
| Between you and my naked soul. | |
| O great beloved, hide away, | |
| That I may miss you for a day. | 20 | | | |
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