Verse > Anthologies > Harriet Monroe, ed. > Poetry: A Magazine of Verse, 1912–22
Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936).  Poetry: A Magazine of Verse.  1912–22.
By F. S. Flint
From “In London”

  I SAT there in the dark
Of the room and of my mind
Thinking of men’s treasons and bad faith,
Sinking into the pit of my own weakness
Before their strength of cunning.        5
Out over the gardens came the sound of someone
Playing five-finger exercises on the piano.
I gathered up within me all my powers
Until outside of me was nothing:        10
I was all—
All stubborn, fighting sadness and revulsion.
  And one came from the garden quietly
And stood beside me.
She laid her hand on my hair;        15
She laid her cheek on my forehead
And caressed me with it.
But all my being rose to my forehead
To fight against this outside thing.
Something in me became angry,        20
Withstood like a wall,
And would allow no entrance—
I hated her.
  “What is the matter with you, dear?” she said.
“Nothing,” I answered,        25
“I am thinking.”
She stroked my hair and went away;
And I was still gloomy, angry, stubborn.
  Then I thought:
She has gone away; she is hurt;        30
She does not know
What poison has been working in me.
  Then I thought:
Upstairs, her child is sleeping;
And I felt the presence        35
Of the fields we had walked over, the roads we had followed,
The flowers we had watched together,
Before it came.
She had touched my hair, and only then did I feel it;
And I loved her once again.        40

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