Page:American Poetry 1922.djvu/23

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Amy Lowell



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