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

Not Overlooked

THOUGH I am little as all little things,

Though the stars that pass over my tininess are as the sands of the sea,

Though the garment of the night was made for a sky-giant and does not fit me,

Though even in a city of men I am as nothing,

Yet at times the gift of life is almost more than I can bear.…

I laugh with joyousness, the morning is a blithe holiday;

And in the overrunning of my hardy bliss praise rises for the very breath I breathe.

How soaked the universe is with life—

Not a cranny but is drenched!

Ah, not even I was overlooked!