Gardens of lovers and flowers,

The round world swinging

In the light of the sun :

All broken, undone,

All down — under

Black surges of thunder . . .

Oh, billow on billow Oh, roar on roar, Over me wash The seas of war . . .

As I lie roofed in, screened in, From the pattering rain, The summer rain — As I lie Snug and dry, And hear the birds complain.

— Harriet Monroe.

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