Verse > Anthologies > Harriet Monroe, ed. > Poetry: A Magazine of Verse, 1912–22
Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936).  Poetry: A Magazine of Verse.  1912–22.
City Wed
By Loureine Aber
From “City Lanes”

        The dawn comes to me sweetly, as a soft new child
Leans with its soul to drain a bit of milk.
And I am new.
O gray old city,
Lift your head a moment from the pots and streets
Wash over me your meaning as a flask of fire
Tipped and spilled over at the altar’s base.
There are new augurings that go in blue-gray smoke
Up from your shops,
New lips that rain a torrent in me as of words.
Be still a moment, city, while the dawn tells tales.

I LIE by the bricks at night—
Do you think I am lying by you,
And this is your breast I lean against?
No. Bricks are my lord—
With them I shall procreate,        5
Until I wake some morning with my litter of stone.
Not that I want to lie with bricks,
O beloved of the white limbs and strong neck!
But how can I help it when they come tumbling—
These bricks that come fumbling        10
At my breast?

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