| Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917. |
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| 372. The Great Man |
| | | By Eunice Tietjens |
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| I CANNOT always feel his greatness. | |
| Sometimes he walks beside me, step by step, | |
| And paces slowly in the ways— | |
| The simple, wingless ways | |
| That my thoughts tread. He gossips with me then, | 5 |
| And finds it good; | |
| Not as an eagle might, his great wings folded, be content | |
| To walk a little, knowing it his choice, | |
| But as a simple man, | |
| My friend. | 10 |
| And I forget. | |
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| Then suddenly a call floats down | |
| From the clear airy spaces, | |
| The great keen, lonely heights of being. | |
| And he who was my comrade hears the call | 15 |
| And rises from my side, and soars, | |
| Deep-chanting, to the heights. | |
| Then I remember. | |
| And my upward gaze goes with him, and I see | |
| Far off against the sky | 20 |
| The glint of golden sunlight on his wings. | |
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