| Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917. |
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| 14. Flash-lights |
| | | By Mary Aldis |
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I CANDLES toppling sideways in tomato cans | |
| Sputter and sizzle at head and foot. | |
| The gaudy patterns of a patch-work quilt | |
| Lie smooth and straight | |
| Save where upswelling over a silent shape. | 5 |
| A man in high boots stirs something on a rusty stove | |
| Round and round and round, | |
| As a new cry like a bleating lamb’s | |
| Pierces his brain. | |
| After a time the man busies himself | 10 |
| With hammer and nails and rough-hewn lumber, | |
| But fears to strike a blow. | |
| Outside the moonlight sleeps white upon the plain | |
| And the bark of a coyote shrills across the night. | |
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II A smell of musk | 15 |
| Comes to him pungently through the darkness. | |
| On the screen | |
| Scenes from foreign lands, | |
| Released by the censor, | |
| Shimmer in cool black and white | 20 |
| Historic information. | |
| He shifts his seat sideways, sideways— | |
| A seeking hand creeps to another hand, | |
| And a leaping flame | |
| Illuminates the historic information. | 25 |
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III Within the room, sounds of weeping | |
| Low and hushed: | |
| Without, a man, beautiful with the beauty | |
| Of young strength, | |
| Holds pitifully to the handle of the door. | 30 |
| He hiccoughs and turns away, | |
| While a hand-organ plays, | |
| “The hours I spend with thee, dear heart.” | |
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