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Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.

Invocation to Death

Emanuel Carnevali

From “Neuriade”

LET me

Close my eyes tight.

Still my arms,

Let me




Let me be utterly alone:

Do not let the awful understanding that comes with

The thought of Death

Bother me.

Your love was not strong enough to hold me.

Death takes things away:

I have them here in my hands,

The rags.

I do not understand the cosmic humor

That lets foolish impossibilities, like me, live.

I have made a mess of it,

But I am no debtor.

It’s the yearning of a nervous man,

The yearning for peace,

The curiosity for a word:


If She would only come quietly,

Like a lady—

The first lady and the last.

Just not to hear any longer

The noise swelling from the morning streets,

Nor the two desperate sparrows chirruping;

Just not to fear any longer

The landlady.