Verse > Anthologies > Harriet Monroe, ed. > Poetry: A Magazine of Verse, 1912–22
Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936).  Poetry: A Magazine of Verse.  1912–22.
To W. J. C.
By Harriet Monroe
October 5th, 1848—September 19th, 1916

  WHY is it, when they wreathe about your name
Garlands of praise—cry soldier, diplomat,
Lover of justice, statesman; and enrich
The pillage of their hearts with bitter tears
For your great heart that beats no more—        5
Why do I see only that tilt of the lip
And gleam of the eyes, the sudden whimsical smile
That used to break the grand lines of your face?—
And hear only some little tender word,
Some love-joke tripping up our futile pride        10
With doubt of human grandeur?
                    Sweet—oh, brave!
Oh, brave and sweet through the strange sun-shot maze
You passed unwavering—holding out your hands
To give and bless, freeing your eager mind
In warm bold words, opening wide your eyes        15
To see the light, follow the clearing path
Out to great spaces.
            Go—go forth! They win you.
I see you there against the sunset glow
Waving your hand, smiling your quizzical smile.
“What next?” I hear you say. Then the sun flaunts        20
Its crimson to the zenith, and goes down
To make another day. And you are gone.

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