Page:American Poetry 1922.djvu/23



VI This then is morning. Have you no comfort for me Cold-colored flowers?

VII My eyes are weary Following you everywhere. Short, oh short, the days!

VIII When the flower falls The leaf is no more cherished. Every day I fear.

IX Even when you smile Sorrow is behind your eyes. Pity me, therefore.

X Laugh—it is nothing. To others you may seem gay, I watch with grieved eyes. 9