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Home  »  Poetry: A Magazine of Verse  »  F. S. Putnam

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

Presage

F. S. Putnam

HE has loved me for my gaiety,

Not for quiet moods or thoughts that bless;

He has loved me for my wayward grace,

Not because he knew my tenderness.

So our love is transient, and as frail

As a moth or darting dragonfly.

There’s no memory of peace to heal

Any wound that comes. Our love will die.