Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.

Cézanne

OUR door was shut to the noon-day heat.

We could not see him.

We might not have heard him either—

Resting, dozing, dreaming pleasantly.

But his step was tremendous—

Are mountains on the march?

He was no man who passed;

But a great faithful horse

Dragging a load

Up the hill.