Verse > Anthologies > Harriet Monroe, ed. > Poetry: A Magazine of Verse, 1912–22
Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936).  Poetry: A Magazine of Verse.  1912–22.
The Mad Woman
By Scharmel Iris
From “Lyrics”

OH blame me not that his lips were red,
Or that my eyes on his eyes went blind,
A leaf am I in a ruthless wind—
I’ll dig me a grave and rest me, dead.
Wolf-winds, a pack,        5
I dragged by the back
And loosened them at his door.
Asp of despair,
Crawl into his lair
And eat his heart to the core.        10
For the baby he gave to me
The moon fell into the sea.
The white leopards of foam
Said, “Carry it home!”
So I put it into a sack,        15
And carried it home on my back.
I lit the lantern of the sun,
And stole the blue cloth of the sky—
A cover for my little one.
I made his crib. Is that his cry?        20
Let me run, let me run,
My eyes grow sad for my son.
Spear of the world’s scorn in my side,
The grave is deep where a maid may bide,
Ever and ever satisfied.        25

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