| Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917. |
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| 231. Spoon River Anthology |
| | | Rutherford McDowell |
| | | By Edgar Lee Masters |
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| THEY brought me ambrotypes | |
| Of the old pioneers to enlarge. | |
| And sometimes one sat for me— | |
| Some one who was in being | |
| When giant hands from the womb of the world | 5 |
| Tore the republic. | |
| What was it in their eyes?— | |
| For I could never fathom | |
| That mystical pathos of drooped eyelids, | |
| And the serene sorrow of their eyes. | 10 |
| It was like a pool of water, | |
| Amid oak trees at the edge of a forest, | |
| Where the leaves fall, | |
| As you hear the crow of a cock | |
| From a far-off farm house, seen near the hills | 15 |
| Where the third generation lives, and the strong men | |
| And the strong women are gone and forgotten. | |
| And these grand-children and great grand-children | |
| Of the pioneers!— | |
| Truly did my camera record their faces, too, | 20 |
| With so much of the old strength gone, | |
| And the old faith gone, | |
| And the old mastery of life gone, | |
| And the old courage gone, | |
| Which labors and loves and suffers and sings | 25 |
| Under the sun! | |
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