Page:Anthology of Magazine Verse (1921).djvu/23

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ECSTASY
I could never be properly dead, For even alone in my grave,These songs would go on in my head, And May in my veins would rave.
No grief or sorrow or pain Could bind me utterly down;I should go shout with the rain, And burst, with June, through the town.
No ancient hurt of the stars, That scarred my heart at its birth,Could ever make silent in me, The songs that I sing for the earth.
Kenneth Slade AllingThe Midland, A Magazine of the Middle West


ST. AGNES' MORNING
Between the dawn and the sun's risingShe could not sleep, so the blood stirred in her;She could not, and in the cold morningWoke with the white curtains' stir,
Between the dawn and the river's flamingShe folded a curtain toward the sea,And, bending, lifted silks togetherIn the cold light, dubiously.
In the cold air, pulsing the curtain,She lifted silks; and let them fall.In the wind she bent above themHearing their rustling musical.

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