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diff --git a/old/63265-0.txt b/old/63265-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 74e2fb8..0000000 --- a/old/63265-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,5203 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Anthology of Magazine Verse for 1913, by -William Stanley Braithwaite - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Anthology of Magazine Verse for 1913 - -Author: William Stanley Braithwaite - -Release Date: September 22, 2020 [EBook #63265] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ANTHOLOGY OF MAGAZINE VERSE 1913 *** - - - - -Produced by hekula03, Charlie Howard, and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This -book was produced from images made available by the -HathiTrust Digital Library.) - - - - - - - - - -Transcriber’s Note - -Table of Contents added by Transcriber. - - - - - ANTHOLOGY OF - MAGAZINE VERSE - FOR 1913 - - - _Including the Magazines - and the Poets_ *.* _A Review_ - - BY - WILLIAM STANLEY BRAITHWAITE - - _Author of “The House of Falling Leaves,” - “The Book of Elizabethan Verse,” etc._ - - - *.* - - - ISSUED BY - W. S. B. - CAMBRIDGE, MASSACHUSETTS - - - - - COPYRIGHT 1913, BY - WILLIAM STANLEY BRAITHWAITE - - - Thomas Todd Co., Printers - 14 Beacon Street, Boston, Mass. - - - - - TO THE POETS OF AMERICA - SINGING TODAY - THE SOUL OF THEIR COUNTRY - TRUTH, BEAUTY, BROTHERHOOD - THEIR NAMES ARE TORCHES - - - - -CONTENTS - - - PAGE - Introduction v - - Hymn to Demeter, by Louis V. Ledoux 1 - Over the Wintry Threshold, by Bliss Carman 2 - In April, by Margaret Lee Ashley 3 - May Is Building Her House, by Richard Le Gallienne 3 - In a Forgotten Burying-ground, by Ruth Guthrie Harding 4 - Wind, by Fannie Stearns Davis 5 - The Speckled Trout, by Madison Cawein 5 - Trees, by Joyce Kilmer 7 - In the Hospital, by Arthur Guiterman 7 - Love of Life, by Tertius van Dyke 8 - God’s Will, by Mildred Howells 8 - On the Birth of a Child, by Louis Untermeyer 9 - To a Child Falling Asleep, Robert Alden Sanborn 9 - A Roman Doll, by Agnes Lee 12 - Sappho, by Sara Teasdale 13 - Of Moira Up the Glen, by Edward J. O’Brien 16 - Morning Glories, by John G. Neihardt 17 - Lest I Learn, by Witter Bynner 18 - Later, by Willard Huntington Wright 18 - The Old Maid, by Sara Teasdale 19 - Departure, by John Hall Wheelock 20 - An Adieu, by Florence Earle Coates 20 - Heart’s Tide, by Ethel M. Hewitt 21 - Waiting, by Charles Hanson Towne 22 - Desiderium, by Richard Le Gallienne 22 - Human, by Richard Burton 23 - The Ghost, by Hermann Hagedorn 23 - A Mountain Gateway, by Bliss Carman 24 - Perugia, by Amelia Josephine Burr 25 - Ghosts, by Marguerite Mooers Marshall 27 - St. John and the Faun, by George Edward Woodberry 28 - School, by Percy MacKaye 30 - The Marvelous Munchausen, by William Rose Benét 34 - Train-mates, by Witter Bynner 38 - The Kallyope Yell, by Nicholas Vachel Lindsay 39 - Thanksgiving For Our Task, by Shaemas OSheel 43 - A Likeness, by Willa Sibert Cather 46 - The Field of Glory, by Edwin Arlington Robinson 48 - Rich Man, Poor Man--, by Francis Hill 49 - The Sin Eater, by Ruth Comfort Mitchell 50 - Night-sentries, by George Sterling 52 - The Swordless Christ, by Percy Adams Hutchison 54 - What of the Night?, by Willard Huntington Wright 55 - A Threnody, by Louis V. Ledoux 57 - November, by Mahlon Leonard Fisher 61 - Salutation, by Ruth Sterry 62 - Here Lies Pierrot, by Richard Burton 62 - - List of “Distinctive Poems,” Their Authors, and the Magazines - in Which They Appeared 64 - The “Best Poems” Chosen from the “Distinctive” List 69 - Titles and Authors of All Poems Appearing in the Seven - Magazines For 1918 71 - Index of First Lines 99 - - - - -INTRODUCTION - - -Poetry is one of the realities that persist. The façade and dome of -palace and temple, the monuments of heroes and saints, crumble before -the ruining breath of time, while the Psalms last. So when another -year passes and we sum up our achievements, there is no achievement -more vital in registering the soul of a people than its poetry. But in -all things that men do, their relationship is objective except those -things in which art, religion, love, and nature express their influence -through the private thoughts and feelings of men. These four things -are the realities, all the others are symbols. And the essence of art, -as well as religion and love and nature, is a conscious and mysterious -thing, called Poetry. And men will find, if they will only stop to -look, that at the bottom of all this poetry, no matter what the theme -or the particular artistic shaping, there is something with which they -are familiar, because in their own souls there has been an unceasing -mystery which they find named in the magic utterance of some lonely and -neglected maker of verses. - -The poetry in the magazines for this past year has been of a general -high standard. The long poems have been well sustained, and there has -been a larger quantity of pure lyric pieces than in the past two or -three years. The influence of Masefield has shown itself in American -verse, notably in the two long poems by Harry Kemp, “The Harvest -Hand” and “The Factory.” One of the noblest poems of the year is Henry -van Dyke’s “Daybreak in the Grand Cañon of Arizona,” which breathes a -fine national spirit, full of reverence for the greatness with which -the American destiny is symbolized in the natural grandeur of our -country. Mr. Markham has a long narrative in “The Shoes of Happiness,” -full of his visionary and spiritual promptings. And in “The Vision of -Gettysburg” Mr. Robert Underwood Johnson reflects also the national -spirit with particular significance. - -The poetry of the year in volumes has not been as ample as last year. -The three poets who have aroused most discussion are the Bengali poet -Tagore, who brought to the Western world in “Gitanjali” a spiritual -message full of mystic but exalted idealism; Francis Thompson, the -great Catholic poet, because of the publication of his collected -works; and Robert Bridges, who, by his appointment to the English -laureateship, became known to a large number of readers who had -hitherto been unfamiliar with his very perfect and delicate gift of -lyric beauty. Of American poets the volumes by Fannie Stearns Davis, -William Rose Benét, Josephine Preston Peabody, Margaret Root Garvin, -and George Edward Woodberry are the most significant. The most -important book of poems of the year by an American poet, however, is -that of Nicholas Vachel Lindsay, “General William Booth Enters into -Heaven and Other Poems.” Here is a man with a big vision, with a -fine originality, and an art that is particularly his own. There has -been no “Lyric Year” this autumn, but a little volume that serves -in some sense its purpose is Miss Jessie B. Rittenhouse’s “Little -Book of Modern Verse,” which is intended to represent the quality of -contemporary American verse. - -I want to call attention to a poet who has not yet presented himself -except through an occasional magazine piece, but who has written two -of the finest sonnets in American poetry. Last year I reprinted, in my -annual summary, Mr. Mahlon Leonard Fisher’s “As an Old Mercer,” and -pronounced that an achievement which could hardly be surpassed. But -in the sonnet “November,” which is reprinted in this book, Mr. Fisher -has done, I believe, something that is even greater. It must rank with -Lizette Woodworth Reese’s “Tears” and Longfellow’s “Nature” as the best -sonnets that have been accomplished by American poets. I have known one -competent judge and lover of poetry to declare that not since Keats’ -“On First Looking into Chapman’s Homer” and Miss Reese’s “Tears” has -there appeared so fine a sonnet in English poetry. The man who has -written “November” has added something to American poetry that cannot -be too highly estimated. - -Another poet who has enriched the magazines this year, after a period -of silence, is Mr. Edwin Arlington Robinson, and in “The Field of -Glory” we are under the spell once more of that characteristic magic -with which he is endowed alone among American poets. - -As in former years, in my annual summary in the _Boston Transcript_, I -have examined the contents of the leading American monthly magazines. -I originally started, nine years ago, when the first summary appeared, -with these six: The Atlantic, Harper’s, Scribner’s, Century, -Lippincott’s, and McClure’s. Later I turned to The Forum. The poetry in -McClure’s during the two years previous to the beginning of the present -year had fallen off; the magazine would reprint occasionally verses -from the books of accomplished but little known English and Irish -poets, which, with the small amount of space that it devoted to verse, -left but little chance of encouragement to native singers. This year -I have included The Smart Set, which, under the new editorship of Mr. -Willard Huntington Wright, himself a poet of considerable attainment, -has been the means of offering the public a high and consistent -standard of excellence in the verse it printed. - -To the six magazines, namely, Harper’s, Scribner’s, Century, Forum, -Lippincott’s, and The Smart Set, I have added this year a weekly, The -Bellman. West of New York it is the best edited and most influential -periodical published. Indeed, it is widely read in the East. In its -pages three of the younger American poets of distinctive achievement -have been presented. Though the late Arthur Upson had published some -two or three books of verse before The Bellman was established, yet it -was practically the first American magazine to print his work. Amelia -J. Burr made her first considerable poetic appearance in The Bellman, -and the best work, the sonnets that have placed Mr. Mahlon Leonard -Fisher in the forefront of contemporary American, or English, sonnet -writers, appeared in this same publication. As last year, I have -winnowed from other magazines distinctive poems for classification and -notice, one each from The Outlook, The Independent, the North American -Review, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse; three from the Poetry Journal and -three from the Yale Review. - - * * * * * - -The poems published during the year in the seven representative -magazines I have submitted to an impartial critical test, choosing from -the total number what I consider the “distinctive” poems of the year. -From the distinctive pieces are selected eighty-one poems, to which -are added five from the other magazines not represented in the list of -seven, making a total of eighty-six, which are intended to represent -what I call an “Anthology of Magazine Verse for 1913.” - -By a further process of elimination, similar to that of previous years, -I have made another selection of forty poems which for one reason or -another in the purpose of this estimate seem to stand grouped above the -others. - -The medium of magazine publication, towards which some critics, -and some poets too (a fact which can hardly be justified), and a -considerable portion of the reading public have a disparaging opinion, -is deserving of better repute for the general high quality of poetic -art that is published. Not many years ago it was a favorite exercise of -the reviewer, when noticing the average book of verse which happened -to include selections reprinted from various magazines, to term the -work “magazinable,” or the poet a “magazine poet.” Even poets who -detested being called “minor” poets preferred that rather vague and -indiscriminate distinction, rather than the unrespectable “magazinable.” - -Quoting what I have written in previous years, to emphasize the -methods which guided my selections, the reader will see how impartial -are the tests by which the distinctive and best poems are chosen: “I -have not allowed any special sympathy with the subject to influence -my choice. I have taken the poet’s point of view, and accepted his -value of the theme he dealt with. The question was: How vital and -compelling did he make it? The first test was the sense of pleasure the -poem communicated; then to discover the secret or the meaning of the -pleasure felt; and in doing so to realize how much richer one became in -a knowledge of the purpose of life by reason of the poem’s message.” - -In one hundred and twenty-one numbers of these seven magazines I find -there were published during 1913 a total of 506 poems. The total number -of poems printed in each magazine, and the number of the distinctive -poems are: Century, total 58, 30 of distinction; Harper’s, total 57, 29 -of distinction; Scribner’s, total 45, 30 of distinction; Forum, total -53, 27 of distinction; Lippincott’s, total 66, 21 of distinction; The -Bellman, total 53, 25 of distinction; The Smart Set, total 169, 49 of -distinction. - -Following the text of the poems making the anthology in this volume, I -have given the titles and authors of all the poems classified as the -distinctive, published in the magazines for the year, only excepting -those that are included in the anthology; in addition I give a list -of all the poems and their authors in the one hundred and twenty-one -numbers of the magazines examined, for the purpose of a record which -readers and students of poetry will find useful. - -I wish to acknowledge my indebtedness and thanks to the editors -of Scribner’s Magazine, Harper’s Magazine, The Forum, The Century -Magazine, The Outlook, Lippincott’s Magazine, The Bellman, The -Independent, The Smart Set, the Yale Review, Poetry, A Magazine of -Verse; and to the publishers of these magazines, including The Poetry -Journal, for the permission kindly given to reprint in this volume the -text of the poems making the “Anthology of Magazine Verse for 1913.” To -the authors of these poems I am equally indebted and grateful for their -willingness to have me reprint their work in this form. Since their -appearance in the magazines and before the close of the year when the -contents of this volume was made up, two poems herein included appeared -in the original volumes of their authors. For the use of William Rose -Benét’s “The Marvelous Munchausen” I have also to thank The Century -Co., publishers of “Merchants of Cathay,” in which volume it appears. -As far as I know, only three of the poems here included are to come -out immediately in books by their authors. The last four stanzas of “A -Threnody,” by Mr. Louis V. Ledoux, are reprinted by permission of the -editor of Scribner’s Magazine, and the rest of the poem is published in -advance, by permission of Messrs. G. P. Putnam’s Sons, from a volume -of Mr. Ledoux’s poems, which is also to include the “Hymn to Demeter” -from “A Sicilian Idyl,” they are to issue in January, under the title -of “The Shadow of Ætna.” The two selections by Mr. Richard Burton, -“Here Lies Pierrot” and “Human”; the two by Willard Huntington Wright, -“What of the Night?” and “Later”; the one by George Edward Woodberry, -“St. John and the Faun”; and the two by Richard Le Gallienne, “May is -Building Her House” and “Desiderium” (which while this Introduction -is being written has come out in Mr. Le Gallienne’s volume, “The -Lonely Dancer and Other Poems,” John Lane Co.), are also being issued -immediately in forthcoming volumes. If there are any others I do not -know of them, and in which case I would gladly give credit, so I -trust any omission of such will be charged to ignorance rather than -intention. I wish it to be understood that the privilege extended me so -courteously, by both the authors and the magazines, to print the poems -in this volume, does not in any sense restrict the authors in their -rights to print the poems in volumes of their own. - -A significant fact which the poetry in this volume must bring to the -reader’s mind in considering American poetry of today is, that these -selections have been published for the first time during the current -year. Our poetry needs, more than anything else, encouragement and -support, to reveal its qualities. The poets are doing satisfying and -vitally excellent work, and it only remains for the American public to -do its duty by showing a substantial appreciation. - -Lastly, I wish to thank the Boston Transcript for the privilege of -reprinting material in this book which originally appeared in the -columns of that paper. - - _Cambridge, December, 1913._ W. S. B. - - - - -HYMN TO DEMETER - -FROM “A SICILIAN IDYL” - - - Weave the dance, and raise again the sacred chorus; - Wreathe the garlands of the spring about the hair; - Now once more the meadows burst in bloom before us, - Crying swallows dart and glitter through the air. - Glints the plowshare in the brown and fragrant furrow; - Pigeons coo in shady coverts as they pair; - Come the furtive mountain folk from cave and burrow, - Lean, and blinking at the sunlight’s sudden glare. - - Bright through midmost heaven moves the lesser Lion; - Hide the Hyades in ocean caverns hoar; - Past the shoulders of the sunset flames Orion, - Following the sisters seaward evermore. - Gleams the east at evening, lit by low Arcturus; - Out to subtle-scented dawns beside the shore, - Yet a little and the Pleiades will lure us: - Weave the dance and raise the chorus as of yore. - - Far to eastward up the fabled gulf of Issus, - Northward, southward, westward, now the trader goes, - Passing headlands clustered yellow with narcissus, - Bright with hyacinth, with poppy, and with rose. - Shines the sea and falls the billow as undaunted, - Past the rising of the stars that no man knows, - Sails he onward through the islands siren-haunted, - Till the clashing gates of rock before him close. - - Kindly Mother of the beasts and birds and flowers, - Gracious bringer of the barley and the grain, - Earth awakened feels thy sunlight and thy showers; - Great Demeter! Let us call thee not in vain; - Lead us safely from the seed-time to the threshing, - Past the harvest and the vineyard’s purple stain; - Let us see thy corn-pale hair the sunlight meshing, - When the sounding flails of autumn swing again. - - _Yale Review_ _Louis V. Ledoux_ - - - - -OVER THE WINTRY THRESHOLD - - - Over the wintry threshold - Who comes with joy today, - So frail, yet so enduring, - To triumph o’er dismay? - - Ah, quick her tears are springing, - And quickly they are dried, - For sorrow walks before her, - But gladness walks beside. - - She comes with gusts of laughter,-- - The music as of rills; - With tenderness and sweetness, - The wisdom of the hills. - - Her hands are strong to comfort, - Her heart is quick to heed; - She knows the signs of sadness, - She knows the voice of need; - - There is no living creature, - However poor or small, - But she will know its trouble, - And hearken to its call. - - Oh, well they fare forever, - By mighty dreams possessed, - Whose hearts have lain a moment - On that eternal breast. - - _Smart Set_ _Bliss Carman_ - - - - -IN APRIL - - - If I am slow forgetting, - It is because the sun - Has such old tricks of setting - When April days are done. - - The soft spring sunlight traces - Old patterns--green and gold; - The flowers have no new faces, - The very buds are old! - - If I am slow forgetting-- - Ah, well, come back and see - The same old sunbeams petting - My garden-plots and me. - - Come smell the green things growing, - The boxwood after rain; - See where old beds are showing - Their slender spears again. - - At dusk, that fosters dreaming-- - Come back at dusk and rest, - And watch our old star gleaming - Against the primrose west. - - _Harper’s_ _Margaret Lee Ashley_ - - - - -MAY IS BUILDING HER HOUSE - - - May is building her house. With apple blooms - She is roofing over the glimmering rooms; - Of the oak and the beech hath she builded its beams, - And, spinning all day at her secret looms, - With arras of leaves each wind-swayed wall - She pictureth over, and peopleth it all - With echoes and dreams, - And singing of streams. - - May is building her house. Of petal and blade, - Of the roots of the oak is the flooring made, - With a carpet of mosses and lichen and clover, - Each small miracle over and over, - And tender, traveling green things strayed. - - Her windows, the morning and evening star, - And her rustling doorways, ever ajar - With the coming and going - Of fair things blowing, - The thresholds of the four winds are. - - May is building her house. From the dust of things - She is making the songs and the flowers and the wings; - From October’s tossed and trodden gold - She is making the young year out of the old; - Yea! out of winter’s flying sleet - She is making all the summer sweet, - And the brown leaves spurned of November’s feet - She is changing back again to spring’s. - - _Harper’s_ _Richard Le Gallienne_ - - - - -IN A FORGOTTEN BURYING-GROUND - - - Eternal in the brooding of the old Norwegian spruces - I hear the wistful tenderness of loves They used to know, - And in the swelling wood-notes that the eager springtide looses - Sobs again Their heart-break from the Springs of Long Ago: - - And sometime, thro’ the silence, with the April shadows lying - Aslant the solemn acre where I take my dreamless rest, - Perhaps the stifled need of You my heart was ever crying - Will find its way across the years--to stir a stranger’s breast! - - _The Poetry Journal_ _Ruth Guthrie Harding_ - - - - -WIND - - - The Wind bows down the poplar trees, - The Wind bows down the crested seas; - And he has bowed the heart of me - Under his hand of memory. - - O heavy-handed Wind, who goes - Hurting the petals of the rose; - Who leaves the grasses on the hill - Broken and pallid, spent and still! - - O heavy-handed Wind, who brings - To me all echoing ancient things: - Echoing sorrow and defeat, - Crying like mourners, hard to meet! - - The Wind bows down the poplar trees - And all the ocean’s argosies; - But deeper bends the heart of me, - Under his hand of memory. - - _Harper’s_ _Fannie Stearns Davis_ - - - - -THE SPECKLED TROUT - - - With rod and line I took my way - That led me through the gossip trees, - Where all the forest was asway - With hurry of the running breeze. - - I took my hat off to a flower - That nodded welcome as I passed; - And, pelted by a morning shower, - Unto its heart a bee held fast. - - A head of gold one great weed tossed, - And leaned to look when I went by; - And where the brook the roadway crossed - The daisy kept on me its eye. - - And when I stooped to bathe my face, - And seat me at a great tree’s foot, - I heard the stream say, “Mark the place: - And undermine it rock and root.” - - And o’er the whirling water there - A dragonfly its shuttle plied, - Where wild a fern let down its hair, - And leaned to see the water’s pride-- - - A speckled trout. The spotted elf, - Whom I had come so far to see, - Stretched out above a rocky shelf, - A shadow sleeping mockingly. - - * * * * * - - And I have sat here half the day - Regarding it. It has not stirred. - I heard the running water say-- - “He does not know the magic word. - - “The word that changes everything, - And brings all Nature to his hand: - That makes of this great trout a king, - And opes the way to Faeryland.” - - _The Bellman_ _Madison Cawein_ - - - - -TREES - - - I think that I shall never see - A poem lovely as a tree. - - A tree whose hungry mouth is prest - Against the sweet earth’s hungry breast; - - A tree that looks at God all day - And lifts her leafy arms to pray; - - A tree that may in summer wear - A nest of robins in her hair; - - Upon whose bosom snow has lain; - Who intimately lives with rain. - - Poems are made by fools like me, - But only God can make a tree! - - _Poetry, A Magazine of Verse_ _Joyce Kilmer_ - - - - -IN THE HOSPITAL - - - Because on the branch that is tapping my pane - A sun-wakened leaf-bud, uncurled, - Is bursting its rusty brown sheathing in twain, - I know there is Spring in the world. - - Because through the sky-patch whose azure and white - My window frames all the day long - A yellow-bird dips for an instant of flight, - I know there is Song. - - Because even here in this Mansion of Woe - Where creep the dull hours, leaden-shod, - Compassion and Tenderness aid me, I know - There is God. - - _Scribner’s_ _Arthur Guiterman_ - - - - -LOVE OF LIFE - - - Love you not the tall trees spreading wide their branches, - Cooling with their green shade the sunny days of June? - Love you not the little bird lost among the leaflets, - Dreamily repeating a quaint, brief tune? - - Is there not a joy in the waste windy places; - Is there not a song by the long dusty way? - Is there not a glory in the sudden hour of struggle? - Is there not a peace in the long quiet day? - - Love you not the meadows with the deep lush grasses; - Love you not the cloud-flocks noiseless in their flight? - Love you not the cool wind that stirs to meet the sunrise; - Love you not the stillness of the warm summer night? - - Have you never wept with a grief that slowly passes; - Have you never laughed when a joy goes running by? - Know you not the peace of rest that follows labor?-- - You have not learnt to live then; how can you dare to die? - - _Scribner’s_ _Tertius van Dyke_ - - - - -GOD’S WILL - - - God meant me to be hungry, - So I should seek to find - Wisdom, and truth, and beauty, - To satisfy my mind. - - God meant me to be lonely, - Lest I should wish to stay - In some green earthly Eden - Too long from heaven away. - - God meant me to be weary, - That I should yearn to rest - This feeble, aching body - Deep in the earth’s dark breast. - - _Harper’s_ _Mildred Howells_ - - - - -ON THE BIRTH OF A CHILD - - - Lo--to the battle-ground of Life, - Child, you have come, like a conquering shout, - Out of a struggle--into strife; - Out of a darkness--into doubt. - - Girt with the fragile armor of Youth, - Child, you must ride into endless wars, - With the sword of protest, the buckler of truth, - And a banner of love to sweep the stars.... - - About you the world’s despair will surge; - Into defeat you must plunge and grope-- - Be to the faltering, an urge; - Be to the hopeless years, a hope! - - Be to the darkened world a flame; - Be to its unconcern a blow-- - For out of its pain and tumult you came, - And into its tumult and pain you go. - - _The Independent_ _Louis Untermeyer_ - - - - -TO A CHILD FALLING ASLEEP - - - Over the dim edge of sleep I lean, - And in her eyes’ illimitable grey distances, - Look down into the shadow-tinted space,-- - The cloudy air of sleep,-- - To see the rose-lit petal of a Child’s fair soul - Seek dreamily the farther gloom, - Where waking eyes may follow her no more. - - One more last time her lids are lifted, - And in her look I read a wistful fare-thee-well; - Her spirit waves a twinkling white hand, - Her bark is out upon the sea of dream,-- - The calm, grey sea, full and immovably established, - That drinks the river of my love, without o’erflowing, - Nor ever gives my image back to me. - - When o’er the sun-swept land - Murmuring twilight spread her dusky tent, - A Stranger passed before our friendly sun,-- - Between the dark and dawn,-- - A Stranger whom we love but never see. - And as she came and cast her blue benignant shadow over all, - She set a silver trumpet to her lips, - And blew a note that thrilled in Children’s hearts; - Because in little hearts the echo-fairies love to play, - Roaming the scented meadows there, - Where Love has been and sown the amaranthine flowers, - Out of whose pristine cups are born the singing stars. - And as the first free rainbow bubble sailed, - Launched by the Stranger with the silver pipe, - Upon the listening air; - As first the hollow note - Kissed the sweet lips and died of happiness, - The little Child unfurled her sails. - - I stood there on the very verge of sleep, - And called to her, - And Love’s own self had deigned to wait within my heart, - (Because I kept it always fit for Childish guests) - And would have given welcome had she stayed. - But then I saw the eyelids close, - And knew that Azrael who championed her soul, - Had shut the gates lest I should see - More than my life could bear. - - Yet I had seen her go, - And sight no more could hold of Beauty’s wine. - I had seen the fair face flush, - As the soft curtains of the tinted west, - Are drawn before the temple of the Night, - When the day-worn Sun has passed within; - Had seen the little body, whitely gowned, - Folded within its nest; - Had caught the last light kiss - Before the lips lay still; - And I had looked into the cool grey deep, - Where Sleep received the rose-leaf soul of her, - And bore it out upon her gentle waters. - - Into the night I passed, - Where on the mellow bosom of the west, - Floated the flame-lit shell of Hesperus; - And as I stayed with hallowed breath, - The soul of fire fell over the rim of night: - And then I knew the soul of her I loved, - Had heard the last clear call, - The low Elysian chant of Hesperus, - And loving me had borne the love I gave, - Out and beyond and over all the ends of earth, - And where the altar flame of Venus burned, - Had laid the gift and breathed her Childhood’s prayer. - - _The Poetry Journal_ _Robert Alden Sanborn_ - - - - -A ROMAN DOLL - -(IN A MUSEUM) - - - How an image of paint and wood - Leaped to her life with a love’s control, - Struck the chords of her motherhood, - Passionate little mother-soul! - Fair to her sight were the stolid eyes, - Dear to her toil the robes empearled. - She crooned it the ancient lullabies, - She gathered it close from the outer world. - They watched together, as Nero’s pyres - Fed the haze of a hundred fires. - - _Me in her fresh young arms she bore. - See, I am small, - Only a doll. - But I keep her kiss forevermore._ - - Long and lonely the toy has lain. - One by one into time’s abyss - Years have dropped as the drops of rain. - Yet the cycles have left us this! - O red-lipped mother, O mother sweet, - Today a sister has heard you call, - Your heart is beating in her heart-beat. - I saw her weep o’er the crumbling doll. - She knew, she knew! You had lived and smiled! - You had loved your dream, little Roman child! - - _Me in her fresh young arms she bore. - See, I am small, - Only a doll. - But I keep her kiss forevermore._ - - _The Poetry Journal_ _Agnes Lee_ - - - - -SAPPHO - - - Midnight, and in the darkness not a sound; - So, with hushed breathing, sleeps the autumn night. - Only the white immortal stars shall know, - Here in the house by the low-lintelled door, - How for the last time I have lit the lamp. - I think you are not wholly careless now, - Walls, that have sheltered me so many an hour, - Bed, that has brought me ecstasy and sleep, - Floors, that have borne me when a gale of joy - Lifted my soul and made me half a god. - Farewell; across the threshold many feet - Shall pass, but never Sappho’s feet again. - Girls shall come in whom love has made aware - Of all their swaying beauty--they shall sing, - But never Sappho’s voice like golden fire - Shall seek for heaven thro’ your echoing rafters; - There shall be sparrows bringing back the spring - Over the long blue meadows of the sea, - And south wind playing on the reeds of rain, - But never Sappho’s whisper in the night, - Never her love-cry when the lover comes. - Farewell, I close the door and make it fast. - - * * * * * - - The little street lies meek beneath the moon, - Running, as rivers run, to meet the sea. - I too go seaward and shall not return. - Oh, garlands on the door-posts that I pass, - Woven of asters and of autumn leaves, - I make a prayer for you: Cypris, be kind, - That every lover may be given love. - I shall not hasten lest the paving-stones - Should echo with my sandals and awake - Those who are warm beneath the cloak of sleep; - Lest they should rise and see me and should say: - “Whither goes Sappho lonely in the night?” - Whither goes Sappho? Whither all men go, - But they go driven, straining back with fear, - And Sappho goes as lightly as a leaf - Blown from brown autumn forests to the sea. - - * * * * * - - Here on the rock Zeus lifted from the waves, - I shall await the waking of the dawn, - Lying beneath the weight of dark as one - Lies breathless till the lover shall awake. - And with the sun, the sea shall cover me; - I shall be less than the dissolving foam, - Murmuring and melting on the ebbing tide. - I shall be less than spindrift, less than shells-- - And yet I shall be greater than the gods; - For destiny no more can bow my soul - As rain bows down the watch-fires on the hills. - Yea, if my soul escape, it shall aspire - Toward the white heaven as flame that has its will. - I go not bitterly, not dumb with grief, - Not broken by the ache of love--I go - As one grown tired lies down and hopes to sleep. - Yet they shall say: “It was for Cercolas-- - She died because she could not bear her love.” - They shall remember how we used to walk - Here on the cliff beneath the oleanders, - In the long limpid twilight of the spring, - Looking toward Khios where the amber sky - Was pierced by the faint arrow of a star. - How should they know the wind of a new beauty - Sweeping my soul had winnowed it with song? - I have been glad tho’ love should come or go, - Happy as trees that find a wind to sway them, - Happy again when it has left them rest. - Others shall say: “Grave Dica wrought her death.” - She would not lift her lips to take a kiss, - Or ever lift her eyes to take a smile. - She was a pool the winter paves with ice, - That the wild hunter in the hills must leave - With thirst unslaked in the brief southward sun. - Ah, Dica, it is not for thee I go. - And not for Phaon, tho’ his ship lifts sail - Here in the windless harbor, for the south. - Oh, darkling deities that guard the Nile, - Watch over one whose gods are far away; - Egypt, be kind to him--his eyes are deep. - Yet they are wrong who say, it was for him. - How should they know that Sappho lived and died - Faithful to love, not faithful to the lover, - Never transfused and lost in what she loved, - Never so wholly loving nor at peace. - I asked for something greater than I found, - And every time that love has made me weep, - I have rejoiced that love could be so strong; - For I have stood apart and watched my soul - Caught in the gust of passion, as a bird - With baffled wings against the dusty whirlwind - Struggles and frees itself to find the sky. - - * * * * * - - It is not for a single god, I go. - I have grown weary of the winds of heaven. - I will not be a reed to hold the sound - Of whatsoever breath the gods may blow, - Turning my torment into music for them. - They gave me life--the gift was bountiful, - I lived with the swift singing strength of fire, - Seeking for beauty as a flame for fuel, - Beauty in all things and in every hour. - The gods have given life, I gave them song; - The debt is paid and now I turn to go. - The breath of dawn blows the stars out like lamps, - There is a rim of silver on the sea. - As one grown tired, who hopes to sleep, I go. - - _Scribner’s_ _Sara Teasdale_ - - - - -OF MOIRA UP THE GLEN - - - It’s little that I’d care for the glories of Ireland, - Waiting for the shadows to gather in the glen, - Come the time of darkness, sitting by the hearth-light, - Whispering with bated breath for fear the little men - Should catch us and spell us to serve them for a year’s time, - Toiling and moiling within a faëry snare. - I’m thinkin’ ’twould be fearsome in the gray misty strangeness.-- - ’Tis hiding we’ll be in the clear free air! - - The sunlight above us, and willow hedge for shelter, - A tangle of soft things to rustle by the stream, - Where Moira, my white dove, whose beauty is my sorrow, - Would sit with me and travel on the long bright dream, - Travel with the water from the mountain to the meadow, - Down across the lowlands and gaily to the sea, - Out beyond the breakers to the shimmer of a far line - Poised and trembling within the heart of me. - - What shall I murmur to coax the dream of beauty - Out from the shadows to welcome in the dawn? - How shall I sing it that she may know the glory, - Know it and come by the first flush of morn? - The moonlight is dark light, ’tis fear I’m after feelin’, - The fairies should be in it and steal her heart away, - A goblet for their feasting, they’d drain it and fill it - With dreams of a far world beyond the light of day. - - It’s God’s light I’m wanting, and Moira to see it, - See it and tremble with the love of God, - And seeing it she’d turn, and look within my own eyes, - And wonder at the vision transforming a sod - Into worshipful silence and thought that is living, - Burning, and shaped by the warmth of its fire - To a chalice of tears and of laughter for singing - The lovely unfolding of dream-purged desire. - - _Smart Set_ _Edward J. O’Brien_ - - - - -MORNING GLORIES - - - Distant as a dream’s flight, - Lay an eerie plain, - Where the weary moonlight - Swooned into a moan; - Wailing after dead seed - Came the ghost of rain. - There was I, a wild weed, - Growing all alone. - - Like a doubted story, - Came the thought of day; - God and all His glory - Lingered otherwhere, - Busy with the spring thrill - Many dreams away. - Could a little weed’s will - Fling so far a prayer? - - Lo, the sudden wonder! - (Is a prayer so fleet?) - From the desert under, - Morning glories grew; - Twined me, bound me - With caressing feet; - Wove song ’round me-- - Pink, white, blue! - - As a fog is rifted - By the eager breeze, - Darkness broke and lifted, - Tossing like a sea! - Lo, the dawn was flowering - Through the maple trees! - Oh, and you were showering - Kisses over me! - - _Smart Set_ _John G. Neihardt_ - - - - -LEST I LEARN - - - Lest I learn, with clearer sight, - Such beauty cannot be-- - Tie a bandage, pull it tight, - Blind me, I would not see! - - Lest I learn, with clearer will, - Such wonder cannot be-- - Oh, kiss me nearer, nearer still, - And make a fool of me! - - _Smart Set_ _Witter Bynner_ - - - - -LATER - - - I went to the place where my youth took birth - In the slow, round kiss of an amorous girl, - When sonnets and lace were the measure of earth, - When death was forgotten and life was a whirl. - - I addled my brain with the memories flown - Of Heatherby Kaiser and Muriel Moore; - I thought of the women and men I had known,-- - The glittering eyes and the bolt on the door-- - - The warm, gray walls and the odor of musk, - The wine, the piano, the glistening feet, - The eyes grown hazy like shadows at dusk, - The minstreling music that rose from the street. - - I thought of Elise with her soft, gold hair; - And the buttonhook hung from the chandelier. - The spirit of passionate youth had been there-- - But somehow the dream of it wasn’t quite clear, - - For the place had been altered; the walls were red, - And the woodwork was stained with a desolate brown; - And they told me a woman had lain in the bed - For a year and a half with the curtains down. - - _Smart Set_ _Willard Huntington Wright_ - - - - -THE OLD MAID - - - I saw her in a Broadway car, - The woman I might grow to be; - I felt my lover look at her - And then turn suddenly to me. - - Her hair was dull and drew no light, - And yet its color was as mine; - Her eyes were strangely like my eyes, - Tho’ love had never made them shine. - - Her body was a thing grown thin, - Hungry for love that never came; - Her soul was frozen in the dark, - Unwarmed forever by love’s flame. - - I felt my lover look at her - And then turn suddenly to me-- - His eyes were magic to defy - The woman I shall never be. - - _The Forum_ _Sara Teasdale_ - - - - -DEPARTURE - - - The twilight is starred, - The dawn has arisen; - Light breaks from the east - And Song from her prison. - - Faint odors and sounds - The west-wind discloses - Of laughter and birds, - Of singing and roses. - - It is time to be gone-- - Day scatters the gloom; - But here at my side, - But still in the room, - - Like the angel of life, - Too kind to depart, - You hang at my lips, - You hang at my heart! - - _The Forum_ _John Hall Wheelock_ - - - - -AN ADIEU - - - Sorrow, quit me for a while! - Wintry days are over; - Hope again, with April smile, - Violets sows and clover. - - Pleasure follows in her path, - Love itself flies after, - And the brook a music hath - Sweet as childhood’s laughter. - - Not a bird upon the bough - Can repress its rapture, - Not a bud that blossoms now - But doth beauty capture. - - Sorrow, thou art Winter’s mate, - Spring cannot regret thee; - Yet, ah, yet--my friend of late-- - I shall not forget thee! - - _Harper’s_ _Florence Earle Coates_ - - - - -HEART’S TIDE - - - I thought I had forgotten you, - So far apart our lives were thrust! - ’Twas only as the earth forgets - The seed the sower left in trust. - - ’Twas only as the creeks forget - The tides that left their hollows dry; - Or as the home-bound ship forgets - Streamers of seaweed drifting by. - - My heart is earth that keeps untold - The secret of the seeds that sleep. - My thoughts are chalices of sand; - Your memory floods them and I weep. - - _Harper’s_ _Ethel M. Hewitt_ - - - - -WAITING - - - I thought my heart would break - Because the Spring was slow. - I said, “How long young April sleeps - Beneath the snow!” - - But when at last she came, - And buds broke in the dew, - I dreamed of my lost love, - And my heart broke, too! - - _Harper’s_ _Charles Hanson Towne_ - - - - -DESIDERIUM - - - Face in the tomb, that lies so still, - May I draw near, - And watch you sleep and love you, - Without word or tear? - - You smile, your eyelids flicker; - Shall I tell - How the world goes that lost you? - Shall I tell? - - Ah, love, lift not your eyelids; - ’Tis the same - Old story that we laughed at, - Still the same. - - We knew it, you and I, - We knew it all: - Still is the small the great, - The great the small; - - Still the cold lie quenches - The flaming truth, - And still embattled age - Wars against youth. - - Yet I believe still in the ever-living God - That fills your grave with perfume, - Writing your name in violets across the sod, - Shielding your holy face from hail and snow; - And, though the withered stay, the lovely go. - No transitory wrong or wrath of things - Shatters the faith--that each slow minute brings - That meadow nearer to us where your feet - Shall flutter near me like white butterflies-- - That meadow where immortal lovers meet, - Gazing forever in immortal eyes. - - _Smart Set_ _Richard Le Gallienne_ - - - - -HUMAN - - - Weighed down by grief, o’erborne by deep despair, - She lifted up white arms to heaven and prayed - That day for death; she made a mighty prayer - Beside her dear one gently to be laid. - - And standing thus, it flashed across her mind - How she must make a seemly silhouette - Against the sky, her figure sharply lined - Upon the westering sunlight, black as jet. - - _Smart Set_ _Richard Burton_ - - - - -THE GHOST - - - One whom I loved and never can forget - Returned to me in dream, and spoke with me, - As audibly, as sweet familiarly - As though warm fingers twined warm fingers yet. - Her eyes were bright and with great wonder wet - As in old days when some strange, swift decree - Brought touch-close love or death; and sorrow-free - She spoke as one long purged of all regret. - I heard, oh, glad beyond all speech, I heard, - Till to my lips the flaming query flashed: - _How is it--over there?_ Then, quite undone, - She trembled; in her deep eyes like a bird - The gladness fluttered, and as one abashed - She shook her head bewildered, and was gone. - - _Scribner’s_ _Hermann Hagedorn_ - - - - -A MOUNTAIN GATEWAY - - - I know a vale where I would go one day, - When June comes back and all the world once more - Is glad with summer. Deep with shade it lies, - A mighty cleft in the green bosoming hills, - A cool, dim gateway to the mountains’ heart. - - On either side the wooded slopes come down, - Hemlock and beech and chestnut; here and there - Through the deep forest laurel spreads and gleams, - Pink-white as Daphne in her loveliness-- - That still perfection from the world withdrawn, - As if the wood gods had arrested there - Immortal beauty in her breathless flight. - - Far overhead against the arching blue - Gray ledges overhang from dizzy heights, - Scarred by a thousand winters and untamed. - The road winds in from the broad riverlands, - Luring the happy traveler turn by turn, - Up to the lofty mountains of the sky. - - And where the road runs in the valley’s foot, - Through the dark woods the mountain stream comes down, - Singing and dancing all its youth away - Among the boulders and the shallow runs, - Where sunbeams pierce and mossy tree trunks hang, - Drenched all day long with murmuring sound and spray. - - There, light of heart and footfree, I would go - Up to my home among the lasting hills, - And in my cabin doorway sit me down, - Companioned in that leafy solitude - By the wood ghosts of twilight and of peace. - - And in that sweet seclusion I should hear, - Among the cool-leafed beeches in the dusk, - The calm-voiced thrushes at their evening hymn-- - So undistraught, so rapturous, so pure, - It well might be, in wisdom and in joy, - The seraphs singing at the birth of time - The unworn ritual of eternal things. - - _Smart Set_ _Bliss Carman_ - - - - -PERUGIA - - - For the sake of a weathered gray city set high on a hill - To the northward I go, - Where Umbria’s valley lies mile upon emerald mile - Outspread like a chart. - The wind in her steep, narrow streets is eternally chill - From the neighboring snow, - But linger who will in the lure of a southerly smile, - Here is my heart. - - Wrought to a mutual blueness are mountains and sky, - Intermingling they meet; - Little gray breathings of olive arise from the plain - Like sighs that are seen, - For man and his Maker harmonious toil, and the sigh - Of such labor is sweet, - And the fruits of their patience are vistas of vineyards and grain - In a glory of green. - - No wind from the valley that passes the casement but flings - Invisible flowers. - The carol of birds is a gossamer tissue of gold - On a background of bells. - Sweetest of all, in the silence the nightingale sings - Through the silver-pure hours, - Till the stars disappear like a dream that may never be told, - Which the dawning dispels. - - Never so darkling the alley but opens at last - On unlimited space; - Each gate is the frame of a vision that stretches away - To the rims of the sky. - Never a scar that was left by the pitiless past - But has taken a grace, - Like the mark of a smile that was turned upon children at play - In a summer gone by. - - Many the tyrants, my city, who held thee in thrall. - What remains of them now? - Names whispered back from the dark through a portal ajar, - They come not again. - By men thou wert made and wert marred, but, outlasting them all, - Is the soul that is thou-- - A soul that shall speak to my soul till I, too, pass afar, - And perchance even then. - - _Century_ _Amelia Josephine Burr_ - - - - -GHOSTS - - - They call you cold New England, - But underneath your snow - Is blood as red as roses - That in your gardens blow. - - The God that lights your forests - With torch of cardinal flower, - Forbids that ever the Puritan - Escape his crimson hour. - - The flame that skims brown furrows-- - The scarlet tanager’s breast, - Is sign to preacher and ploughman - Of dreams that haunt their rest. - - When witch and warlock perished - By fagot, scaffold and tree, - Their tortures slew their bodies - But set their spirits free! - - In freedom gliding, gloating, - Through the haunts their children claim - The swollen ghosts of the wicked - Grow fat on new-wrought shame. - - The old, sweet evil lingers, - The demon of uncontrol, - And madness creeps and crouches - In every haggard soul. - - And he who held moon revels - In Salem forests deep, - Well loves his hypocrite servants - Nor seeks to spoil their sleep. - - They call you cold New England-- - But surely even your snow - Is drift not of ice but of ashes, - To guard the flames below! - - _Smart Set_ _Marguerite Mooers Marshall_ - - - - -ST. JOHN AND THE FAUN - - -I - - O blest Imagination! - Bright power beneath man’s lid, - That in apparent beauty - Unveils the beauty hid! - In the gleaming of the instant - Abides the immortal thing; - Our souls that voyage unspeaking - Press forward, wing and wing; - From every passing object - A brighter radiance pours; - The Lethe of our daily lives - Sweeps by eternal shores. - - -II - - On the deep below Amalfi, - Where the long roll of the wave - Slowly breathed, and slipped beneath me - To gray cliff and sounding cave, - Came a boat-load of dark fishers, - Passed, and on the bright sea shone; - There, the vision of a moment, - I beheld the young St. John. - - At the stern the boy stood bending - Full his dreaming gaze on me; - Inexorably spread between us - Flashed the blue strait of the sea; - Slow receding,--distant,--distant,-- - While my bosom scarce drew breath,-- - Dreaming eyes on my eyes dreaming - Holy beauty without death. - - -III - - In the cloudland o’er Amalfi, - Where with mists the deep ravine - Like a cauldron smoked, and, clearing, - Showed, far down, the pictured scene, - Capes and bays and peaks and ocean, - And the city, like a gem, - Set in circlets of pale azure - That her beauty ring and hem,-- - Once, returning from the chasm - By the mountain’s woodland way, - Underneath the oak and chestnut - Where I loved to make delay, - (And dark boys and girls with faggots - Would pass near on that wild lawn, - And at times they brought me rosebuds), - There one day I saw a faun. - - The wood was still with noontide, - The very trees seemed lone, - When from a neighboring thicket - His moon-eyes on me shone, - Motionless, and bright, and staring, - And with a startled grace; - As nature, wildly magical - Was the beauty of his face; - - And as some gentle creature - That, curious, has fear, - Dumb he stood and gazed upon me, - But did not venture near; - And I moved not, nor motioned, - Nor gave him any sign, - Nor broke the momentary spell - Of the old world divine. - - -IV - - Love, with no other agent - Save communion by the eye, - Evoked from those bright creatures - Our secret unity; - There, flowering from old ages, - Hung on time’s blossoming stem - All that fairest was in me - Or loveliest in them; - And truly it was happiness - Unto a poet’s heart - To find that living in his breast - Which is immortal art. - - _The Forum_ _George Edward Woodberry_ - - - - -SCHOOL - - -I - - Old Hezekiah leaned hard on his hoe - And squinted long at Eben, his lank son. - The silence shrilled with crickets. Day was done, - And, row on dusky row, - Tall bean poles ribbed with dark the gold-bright afterglow. - Eben stood staring: ever, one by one, - The tendril tops turned ashen as they flared. - Still Eben stared. - - O, there is wonder on New Hampshire hills, - Hoeing the warm, bright furrows of brown earth, - And there is grandeur in the stone wall’s birth, - And in the sweat that spills - From rugged toil its sweetness; yet for wild young wills - There is no dew of wonder, but stark dearth, - In one old man who hoes his long bean rows, - And only hoes. - - Old Hezekiah turned slow on his heel. - He touched his son. Thro’ all the carking day - There are so many littlish cares to weigh - Large natures down, and steel - The heart of understanding. “Son, how is’t ye feel? - What are ye starin’ on--a gal?” A ray - Flushed Eben from the fading afterglow: - He dropped his hoe. - - He dropped his hoe, but sudden stooped again - And raised it where it fell. Nothing he spoke, - But bent his knee and--crack! the handle broke, - Splintering. With glare of pain, - He flung the pieces down, and stamped upon them; then-- - Like one who leaps out naked from his cloak-- - Ran. “Here, come back! Where are ye bound--you fool?” - He cried--“To school!” - - -II - - Now on the mountain morning laughed with light-- - With light and all the future in her face, - For there she looked on many a far-off place - And wild adventurous sight, - For which the mad young autumn wind hallooed with might - And dared the roaring mill-brook to the race, - Where blue-jays screamed beyond the pine-dark pool-- - “To school!--To school!” - - Blackcoated, Eben took the barefoot trail, - Holding with wary hand his Sunday boots; - Harsh catbirds mocked his whistling with their hoots; - Under his swallowtail - Against his hip-strap bumping, clinked his dinner pail; - Frost maples flamed, lone thrushes touched their lutes; - Gray squirrels bobbed, with tails stiff curved to backs, - To eye his tracks. - - Soon at the lonely crossroads he passed by - The little one-room schoolhouse. He peered in. - There stood the bench where he had often been - Admonished flagrantly - To drone his numbers: now to this he said good-bye - For mightier lure of more romantic scene: - Good-bye to childish rule and homely chore - Forevermore! - - All day he hastened like the flying cloud - Breathless above him, big with dreams, yet dumb. - With tightened jaw he chewed the tart spruce gum, - And muttered half aloud - Huge oracles. At last, where thro’ the pine-tops bowed - The sun, it rose!--His heart beat like a drum. - There, there it rose--his tower of prophecy: - The Academy! - - -III - - They learn to live who learn to contemplate, - For contemplation is the unconfined - God who creates us. To the growing mind - Freedom to think is fate, - And all that age and after-knowledge augurate - Lies in a little dream of youth enshrined: - That dream to nourish with the skilful rule - Of love--is school. - - Eben, in mystic tumult of his teens, - Stood bursting--like a ripe seed--into soul. - All his life long he had watched the great hills roll - Their shadows, tints and sheens - By sun- and moonrise; yet the bane of hoeing beans, - And round of joyless chores, his father’s toll, - Blotted their beauty; nature was as naught: - He had never _thought_. - - But now he climbed his boyhood’s castle tower - And knocked. Ah, well then for his after-fate - That one of nature’s masters opened the gate, - Where like an April shower - Live influence quickened all his earth-blind seed to power. - Strangely his sense of truth grew passionate, - And like a young bull, led in yoke to drink, - He bowed to think. - - There also bowed their heads with him to quaff-- - The snorting herd! And many a wholesome grip - He had of rivalry and fellowship. - Often the game was rough, - But Eben tossed his horns and never balked the cuff; - For still through play and task his Dream would slip-- - A radiant Herdsman, guiding destiny - To his degree. - - -IV - - Once more old Hezekiah stayed his hoe - To squint at Eben. Silent, Eben scanned - A little roll of sheepskin in his hand, - While, row on dusky row, - Tall bean poles ribbed with dark the gold-pale afterglow. - The boy looked up: here was another land! - Mountain and farm with mystic beauty flared - Where Eben stared. - - Stooping, he lifted with a furtive smile - Two splintered sticks, and spliced them. Nevermore - His spirit would go beastwise to his chore - Blinded, for even while - He stooped to the old task, sudden in the sunset’s pile - His radiant Herdsman swung a fiery door, - Thro’ which came forth with far-borne trumpetings - Poets and kings, - - His fellow conquerors: there Virgil dreamed, - There Cæsar fought and won the barbarous tribes, - There Darwin, pensive, bore the ignorant gibes, - And One with thorns redeemed - From malice the wild hearts of men: there surged and streamed - With chemic fire the forges of old scribes - Testing anew the crucibles of toil - To save God’s soil. - - So Eben turned again to hoe his beans, - But now, to ballads which his Herdsman sung, - Henceforth he hoed the dream in with the dung, - And for his ancient spleens - Planting new joys, imagination found him means. - At last old Hezekiah loosed his tongue: - “Well, boy, this school--what has it learned ye to know?” - He said: “To hoe.” - - _The Forum_ _Percy MacKaye_ - - - - -THE MARVELOUS MUNCHAUSEN - - - The snug little room with its brazier fire aglow, - And Piet and Sachs and Vroom--all in the long ago,-- - Oh, the very long ago!--o’er their pipes and hollands seen; - And on the wall the man-o’-war, and firelight on the screen! - - Their flowered, bulging waistcoats that wrinkle when they chuckle; - The baron, much-mustachioed, and gay with star and buckle, - And bristling in a uniform as scarlet as his cheeks, - With choker lace beneath his chin, and splendid, yellow breeks! - - The smoke drifts blue, and bluer through that window, all abreeze, - Are glinting sky and glistening sea beyond the Holland quays. - Blue tiles, red bricks, the bustling wharves, with color’s oriflamme; - Starched caps and rosy-posy cheeks--the girls of Amsterdam! - - The snug little room with its brazier fire aglow! - Oh, listen, will he tell them, as he told them long ago,-- - Oh, very long ago, a-laughing in his sleeve!-- - The marvelous Munchausen, with the fables _I_ believe? - - * * * * * - - “When I had sown the Turkey beans that reachéd to the moon, - And lifted all Westminster in the sling from my balloon - (Swung over the Atlantic, - They peered from windows, frantic), - When, eagle-back, I’d scanned the pole in broad, eternal noon, - - “In Queen Mab’s chariot I ventured on the sea. - ’Twas like a mammoth hazelnut, with matchless orrery - A-sparkle on its ceiling, - With planet systems wheeling - And giddy comets sizzling all about the head o’ me. - - “The nine bulls drew it, as stout as those of Crete, - And all were shod with horrid skulls that clattered on their feet. - Rich banners waved behind ’em, - While on their backs, to mind ’em, - Postilion crickets chirruped them, all chirping loud and sweet. - - “Ghost of the Cape I warn you of, for he is bottle-blue. - We split his Table Mountain. He gibbered and he flew. - The bulls straight showed disfeature - With gazing on the creature, - Stampeding in their harness when I gave the view-halloo. - - “Though wrecked on Egypt’s obelisks, disaster I defied, - And harnessed Sphinx, the emperor’s gift, to tow an ark as wide - As great Westminster; - With beau and bell and spinster, - And cleric, clerk, and coronet all tête-à-tête inside. - - “‘Good folk, we sail for Africa,’ said I to all my train. - ‘When bold Munchausen leads you forth, what laggard dares remain - In slippered ease, uncaring - To share my deeds of daring?’ - Their cheers amazed my modesty, and more had made me vain. - - “‘The sultan’s bees I’ve shepherded. I’ve hornpiped at Marseilles, - Where gulped me down, well nigh to drown, the liveliest of whales. - I’m riskiest of riskers, - But, blow my grizzled whiskers!’ - I cried, ‘May jackals gnaw my bones if now Munchausen fails!’ - - “By night the lions roared at us. By day the simoons came - And swept across our caravan in sandy clouds of flame; - But naught dismayed our temper, or - The genial Afric emperor - Had missed my handsome greeting, to his long-abiding shame. - - “The people of the Mountains of the Moon I wined and dined. - I reigned at Gristariska when His Majesty declined. - Reforms I wrought untiring, - With Gog and Magog squiring, - And Frosticos, my bosom friend, who lent a legal mind. - - “For last superb achievement,--bright tears may Envy shed!-- - I built a bridge, from Africa to distant England spread: - No edifice of fable, - Nay, not the Tower of Babel, - Surpassed its mammoth glory in the heavens overhead. - - “So back across its noble arch my retinue and I - Advanced with blaring trumpets through the regions of the sky. - Clouds lingered to enwreathe us, - Earth’s kingdoms far beneath us, - And martial music cheered our march from all the birds that fly.” - - * * * * * - - The snug little room with its brazier fire aglow, - And Piet and Sachs and Vroom all sleeping long ago,-- - Oh, so very long ago!--and, chuckling in his sleeve, - Still, o’er the slumbering table, - Drone-droning on his fable, - The marvelous Munchausen, with the stories _I_ believe! - - _Century_ _William Rose Benét_ - - - - -TRAIN-MATES - - - Outside hove Shasta, snowy height on height, - A glory; but a negligible sight, - For you had often seen a mountain-peak - But not my paper. So we came to speak. - A smoke, a smile,--a good way to commence - The comfortable exchange of difference!-- - You a young engineer, five feet eleven, - Forty-five chest, with football in your heaven, - Liking a road-bed newly built and clean, - Your fingers hot to cut away the green - Of brush and flowers that bring beside a track - The kind of beauty steel lines ought to lack,-- - And I a poet, wistful of my betters, - Reading George Meredith’s high-hearted Letters, - Joining betweenwhile in the mingled speech - Of a drummer, circus-man, and parson, each - Absorbing to himself--as I to me - And you to you--a glad identity! - After a while when the others went away, - A curious kinship made us want to stay, - Which I could tell you now; but at the time - You thought of baseball teams and I of rhyme, - Until we found that we were college men - And smoked more easily and smiled again; - And I from Cambridge cried, the poet still: - “I know your fine Greek Theatre on the hill - At Berkeley!” With your happy Grecian head - Upraised, “I never saw the place,” you said. - “Once I was free of class, I always went - Out to the field.” - Young engineer, - You meant as fair a tribute to the better part - As ever I did. Beauty of the heart - Is evident in temples. But it breathes - Alive where athletes quicken airy wreaths, - Which are the lovelier because they die. - You are a poet quite as much as I, - Though differences appear in what we do, - And I an athlete quite as much as you. - Because you half-surmised my quarter-mile - And I your quatrain, we could greet and smile. - Who knows but we shall look again and find - The circus-man and drummer, not behind - But leading in our visible estate, - As discus-thrower and as laureate? - - _Yale Review_ _Witter Bynner_ - - - - -THE KALLYOPE YELL - -[_Loudly and rapidly with a leader, College yell fashion_] - - -I - - Proud men - Eternally - Go about, - Slander me, - Call me the “Calliope.” - Sizz . . . . . - Fizz . . . . . - - -II - - I am the Gutter Dream, - Tune-maker, born of steam, - Tooting joy, tooting hope. - I am the Kallyope, - Car called the Kallyope. - Willy willy willy wah HOO! - See the flags: snow-white tent, - See the bear and elephant, - See the monkey jump the rope, - Listen to the Kallyope, Kallyope, Kallyope! - Soul of the rhinoceros - And the hippopotamus - (Listen to the lion roar!) - Jaguar, cockatoot, - Loons, owls, - Hoot, Hoot. - Listen to the lion roar, - Listen to the lion roar, - Listen to the lion R-O-A-R! - Hear the leopard cry for gore, - Willy willy willy wah HOO! - Hail the bloody Indian band, - Hail, all hail the popcorn stand, - Hail to Barnum’s picture there, - People’s idol everywhere, - Whoop, whoop, whoop, WHOOP! - Music of the mob am I, - Circus day’s tremendous cry:-- - I am the Kallyope, Kallyope, Kallyope! - Hoot toot, hoot toot, hoot toot, hoot toot, - Willy willy willy wah HOO! - Sizz, fizz . . . . . - - -III - - Born of mobs, born of steam, - Listen to my golden dream, - Listen to my golden dream, - Listen to my G-O-L-D-E-N D-R-E-A-M! - Whoop whoop whoop whoop WHOOP! - I will blow the proud folk low, - Humanize the dour and slow, - I will shake the proud folk down, - (Listen to the lion roar!) - Popcorn crowds shall rule the town-- - Willy willy willy wah HOO! - Steam shall work melodiously, - Brotherhood increase. - You’ll see the world and all it holds - For fifty cents apiece. - Willy willy willy wah HOO! - Every day a circus day. - - _What?_ - - Well, _almost_ every day. - Nevermore the sweater’s den, - Nevermore the prison pen. - Gone the war on land and sea - That aforetime troubled men. - Nations all in amity, - Happy in their plumes arrayed - In the long bright street parade. - Bands a-playing every day. - - _What?_ - - Well, _almost_ every day. - I am the Kallyope, Kallyope, Kallyope! - Willy willy willy wah HOO! - Hoot, toot, hoot, toot, - Whoop whoop whoop whoop, - Willy willy willy wah HOO! - Sizz, fizz . . . . . - - -IV - - Every soul - Resident - In the earth’s one circus tent! - Every man a trapeze king - Then a pleased spectator there. - On the benches! In the ring! - While the neighbors gawk and stare - And the cheering rolls along. - Almost every day a race - When the merry starting gong - Rings, each chariot on the line, - Every driver fit and fine - With the steel-spring Roman grace. - Almost every day a dream, - Almost every day a dream. - Every girl, - Maid or wife, - Wild with music, - Eyes a-gleam - With that marvel called desire: - Actress, princess, fit for life, - Armed with honor like a knife, - Jumping thro’ the hoops of fire. - (Listen to the lion roar!) - Making all the children shout - Clowns shall tumble all about, - Painted high and full of song - While the cheering rolls along, - Tho’ they scream, - Tho’ they rage, - Every beast - In his cage, - Every beast - In his den - That aforetime troubled men. - - -V - - I am the Kallyope, Kallyope, Kallyope, - Tooting hope, tooting hope, tooting hope, tooting hope; - Shaking window-pane and door - With a crashing cosmic tune, - With the war-cry of the spheres, - Rhythm of the roar of noon, - Rhythm of Niagara’s roar, - Voicing planet, star and moon, - SHRIEKING of the better years. - Prophet-singers will arise, - Prophets coming after me, - Sing my song in softer guise - With more delicate surprise; - I am but the pioneer - Voice of the Democracy; - I am the gutter-dream, - I am the golden dream, - Singing science, singing steam. - I will blow the proud folk down, - (Listen to the lion roar!) - I am the Kallyope, Kallyope, Kallyope, - Tooting hope, tooting hope, tooting hope, tooting hope, - Willy willy willy wah HOO! - Hoot toot, hoot toot, hoot toot, hoot toot, - Whoop whoop, whoop whoop, - Whoop whoop, whoop whoop, - Willy willy willy wah HOO! - Sizz ..... - Fizz ..... - - _The Forum_ _Nicholas Vachel Lindsay_ - - - - -THANKSGIVING FOR OUR TASK - - - The sickle is dulled of the reaping and the threshing-floor is bare; - The dust of night’s in the air. - The peace of the weary is ours: - All day we have taken the fruit and the grain and the seeds of the flowers. - - The ev’ning is chill, - It is good now to gather in peace by the flames of the fire. - We have done now the deed that we did for our need and desire: - We have wrought our will. - - And now for the boon of abundance and golden increase, - And immurèd peace, - Shall we thank our God? - Bethink us, amid His indulgence, His terrible rod? - - Shall we be as the maple and oak, - Strew the earth with our gold, giving only bare boughs to the sky? - Nay, the pine stayeth green while the Winter growls sullenly by, - And doth not revoke - - For soft days or stern days the pledge of its constancy. - Shall we not be - Also the same through all days, - Giving thanks when the battle breaks on us, in toil giving praise? - - O Father who saw at the dawn, - That the folly of Pride would be the lush weed of our sin, - There is better than that in our hearts, O enter therein, - A light burneth, though wan - - And weak be the flame, yet it gloweth, our Humility! - Ah, how can it be - Trimmed o’ the wick, - And replenished with oil to burn brightly and golden and quick? - - For deep in our hearts - We wish to be thankful through lean years and fat without change, - Knowing that here Thou hast set for the spirit a range: - We would play well our parts, - - Making America throb with the building of souls and the glory of good; - Yea, and we would, - And before the last Autumn we will - Build a temple from ocean to ocean where deeds never still - - Melodiously shall proclaim - Thanksgiving forever that Thou hast set here to our hand - So wondrous a mystical harvest, that Thou dost demand - Sheaves bound in Thy name, - - Yea, supersubstantial sheaves of strong souls that have grown - Fain to be known - As the corn of Thine occident field: - O Yielder of All, can America worthily thank Thee till such be her yield? - - In the mellowing light - Of the goldenest days that precede the gray days of the year, - We sing Thee our harvesting song and we pray Thee to hear, - In the midst of Thy might: - - Labor is given to us, - Let us give thanks! - Power worketh through us, - Let us give thanks! - Not for what we have - (So might speak a slave), - Not for the garnering, - Gratefully we sing, - But for the mighty thing - We must do, travailing! - For our task and for our strength; - For the journey and its length; - For our dauntless eagerness; - For our humbling weariness; - For these, for these, O Father, - Let us give thanks! - For these, O Mighty Father, - Take Thou our thanks! - - _The Forum_ _Shaemas OSheel_ - - - - -A LIKENESS - -PORTRAIT BUST OF AN UNKNOWN, CAPITOL, ROME - - - In every line a supple beauty-- - The restless head a little bent-- - Disgust of pleasure, scorn of duty, - The unseeing eyes of discontent. - I often come to sit beside him, - This youth who passed and left no trace - Of good or ill that did betide him, - Save the disdain upon his face. - - The hope of all his House, the brother - Adored, the golden-hearted son, - Whom Fortune pampered like a mother; - And then--a shadow on the sun. - Whether he followed Cæsar’s trumpet, - Or chanced the riskier game at home - To find how favor played the strumpet - In fickle politics at Rome; - - Whether he dreamed a dream in Asia - He never could forget by day, - Or gave his youth to some Aspasia, - Or gamed his heritage away; - Once lost, across the Empire’s border - This man would seek his peace in vain; - His look arraigns a social order - Somehow entrammelled with his pain. - - “The dice of gods are always loaded”; - One gambler, arrogant as they, - Fierce, and by fierce injustice goaded, - Left both his hazard and the play. - Incapable of compromises, - Unable to forgive or spare, - The strange awarding of the prizes - He had no fortitude to bear. - - Tricked by the forms of things material-- - The solid-seeming arch and stone, - The noise of war, the pomp imperial, - The heights and depths about a throne-- - He missed, among the shapes diurnal, - The old, deep-travelled road from pain, - The thoughts of men which are eternal, - In which, eternal, men remain. - - Ritratto d’ignoto; defying - Things unsubstantial as a dream-- - An Empire, long in ashes lying-- - His face still set against the stream. - Yes, so he looked, that gifted brother - I loved, who passed and left no trace, - Not even--luckier than this other-- - His sorrow in a marble face. - - _Scribner’s_ _Willa Sibert Cather_ - - - - -THE FIELD OF GLORY - - - War shook the land where Levi dwelt, - And fired the dismal wrath he felt, - That such a doom was ever wrought - As his, to toil while others fought; - To toil, to dream--and still to dream, - With one day barren as another; - To consummate, as it would seem, - The dry despair of his old mother. - - Far off one afternoon began - The sound of man destroying man; - And Levi, sick with nameless rage, - Condemned again his heritage, - And sighed for scars that might have come, - And would, if once he could have sundered - Those harsh, inhering claims of home - That held him while he cursed and wondered. - - Another day, and then there came, - Rough, bloody, ribald, hungry, lame, - But yet themselves, to Levi’s door, - Two remnants of the day before. - They laughed at him and what he sought; - They jeered him, and his painful acre; - But Levi knew that they had fought, - And left their manners to their Maker. - - That night, for the grim widow’s ears, - With hopes that hid themselves in fears, - He told of arms, and featly deeds, - Whereat one leaps the while he reads, - And said he’d be no more a clown, - While others drew the breath of battle. - The mother looked him up and down, - And laughed--a scant laugh with a rattle. - - She told him what she found to tell, - And Levi listened, and heard well - Some admonitions of a voice - That left him no cause to rejoice. - He sought a friend, and found the stars, - And prayed aloud that they should aid him; - But they said not a word of wars, - Or of a reason why God made him. - - And who’s of this or that estate - We do not wholly calculate, - When baffling shades that shift and cling - Are not without their glimmering; - When even Levi, tired of faith, - Beloved of none, forgot by many, - Dismissed as an inferior wraith, - Reborn may be as great as any. - - _The Outlook_ _Edwin Arlington Robinson_ - - - - -RICH MAN, POOR MAN-- - - - Oh, joy that burns in Denver tavern! - The lights, the drink, the ceaseless play! - A kingdom, dull within a cavern, - Across the boards he flings away. - - Then night that falls on either mountain - (Ah, bitter black it falls between); - But he, like water to its fountain, - Is come again where life runs clean. - - So Death shall find him, delving, peering. - Still silver rock, still golden sand. - He weeps to hear the magpies’ jeering, - But he is back in his own land. - - _Lippincott’s_ _Francis Hill_ - - - - -THE SIN EATER - - -I - - Hark ye! Hush ye! Margot’s dead! - Hush! Have done wi’ your brawling tune! - Danced, she did, till the stars grew pale; - Mother o’ God, an’ she’s gone at noon! - Sh-h ... d’ye _hear_ me?--Margot’s _dead_! - Sickened an’ drooped an’ died in an hour! - (Bring me th’ milk an’ th’ meat an’ bread.) - Drooped, she did, like a wilted flower. - Come an’ look at her, how she lies, - Little an’ lone, and like she’s scared.... - (She lost her beads last Friday week, - Tore her Book, an’ she never cared.)... - Eh, my lass, but it’s winter, now-- - You that ever was meant for June, - Your laughing mouth an’ your dancing feet-- - An’ now you’re done, like an ended tune. - Where’s that woman? Ah, give it me quick, - Food at her head an’ her poor, still feet.... - There’s plenty, fool! D’ye think the wench - Had _so_ many sins for himself to eat? - Take up your cloak an’ hand me mine.... - Are we fetchin’ him? Eh, for sure! - An’ you’ll come with me for all your quakes, - Clear to his cave across the moor! - --Margot, dearie, don’t look so scared, - It’s no long while till your peace begins! - What if you tore your Book, poor lamb? - I’m bringin’ you one will eat your sins! - - -II - - It’s a blood-red sun that’s sinkin’.... - Ohooo, but the marshland’s drear! - Woman, for why will you be shrinkin’? - I’m tellin’ you there’s nought to fear. - What if the twilight’s gloomish - An’ th’ shadows creep an’ crawl?-- - Woman, woman, here’ll be th’ cave! - Stand by me close till I call! - “Sin Eater! Devil Cheater!” - (Eh, it echoes hollowly!) - “Margot’s dead at Willow Farm! - Shroud your face and follow me!” - - -III - - One o’ th’ clock ... two o’ th’ clock.... - This night’s a week in span! - Still he crouches by her side.... - Devil ... ghost ... or man?... - - -IV - - Woman, never cock’s crow sounded sweet before! - Set the casement wide ajar, fasten back the door! - Eh, but I be cold an’ stiff, waitin’ for th’ dawn; - Fetch me flowers--jessamine--see, the food is gone.... - Light enough to see her now.... Mary! How her face - Shines on us like altar fires, now she’s sure o’ grace! - Never mind your Book, my lamb, never mind your beads, - There’s th’ Gleam before you now, follow where it leads. - - -V - - Tearful peace and gentle grief - Brood on Willow Farm: - Margot, sleeping in her flowers, - Smiles, secure from harm: - In a cave across the moor, - Dank and dark within, - Moans the trafficker in souls, - Freshly bowed with sin. - - _Smart Set_ _Ruth Comfort Mitchell_ - - - - -NIGHT-SENTRIES - - - Ever as sinks the day on sea or land, - Called or uncalled, you take your kindred posts. - At helm and lever, wheel and switch, you stand, - On the world’s wastes and melancholy coasts. - Strength to the patient hand! - To all, alert and faithful in the night, - May there be Light! - - Now roars the wrenching train along the dark; - How many watchers guard the barren way - In signal-towers, at stammering keys, to mark - The word the whispering horizons say! - To all that see and hark-- - To all, alert and faithful in the night, - May there be Light! - - On ruthless streets, on byways sad with sin-- - Half-hated by the blinded ones you guard-- - Guard well, lest crime unheeded enter in! - The dark is cruel and the vigil hard, - The hours of guilt begin. - To all, alert and faithful in the night, - May there be Light! - - Now storms the pulsing hull adown the sea: - Gaze onward, anxious eyes, to mist or star! - Where foams the heaving highway blank and free? - Where wait the reef, the berg, the cape, the bar? - Whatever menace be, - To all, alert and faithful in the night, - May there be Light! - - Now the surf-rumble rides the midnight wind, - And grave patrols are on ocean edge. - Now soars the rocket where the billows grind, - Discerned too late, on sunken shoal or ledge. - To all that seek and find, - To all, alert and faithful in the night, - May there be Light! - - On lonely headlands gleam the lamps that warn, - Star-steady, or ablink like dragon-eyes. - Govern your rays, or wake the giant horn - Within the fog that welds the sea and skies! - Far distant runs the morn: - To all, alert and faithful in the night, - May there be Light! - - Now glow the lesser lamps in rooms of pain, - Where nurse and doctor watch the joyless breath, - Drawn in a sigh, and sighing lost again. - Who waits without the threshold, Life or Death? - Reckon you loss or gain? - To all, alert and faithful in the night, - May there be Light! - - Honor to you that guard our welfare now! - To you that constant in the past have stood! - To all by whom the future shall avow - Unconquerable fortitude and good! - Upon the sleepless brow - Of each, alert and faithful in the night, - May there be Light! - - _Harper’s_ _George Sterling_ - - - - -THE SWORDLESS CHRIST - -VICISTI, GALILEE - - - Aye, down the years, behold, he rides, - The lowly Christ, upon an ass; - But conquering? Ten shall heed the call, - A thousand idly watch him pass: - - They watch him pass, or lightly hold - In mock lip-loyalty his name: - A thousand--were they his to lead! - But meek, without a sword, he came. - - A myriad horsemen swept the field - With Attila, the whirlwind Hun: - A myriad cannon spake for him, - The silent, dread Napoleon. - - For these had ready spoil to give. - Had reeking spoil for savage hands; - Slaves, and fair wives, and pillage rare: - The wealth of cities: teeming lands. - - And if the world, once drunk with blood, - Sated, has turned from arms to peace, - Man hath not lost his ancient lusts; - The weapons change; war doth not cease. - - The mother in the stifling den, - The brain-dulled child beside the loom, - The hordes that swarm and toil and starve, - We laugh, and tread them to their doom. - - They shriek, and cry their prayers to Christ; - And lift wan faces, hands that bleed: - In vain they pray, for what is Christ? - A leader--without men to lead. - - Ah, piteous Christ, afar he rides: - We see him, but the face is dim. - We, that would leap at crash of drums, - Are slow to rise and follow him. - - _The Forum_ _Percy Adams Hutchison_ - - - - -WHAT OF THE NIGHT? - - - What of the night - And the eventual silences? - Art thou not cold with the knowledge of decay - And the uncompromising reaches of the earth? - What of the night - When the tune falters and the blood chills? - When thou art one with the grass - And the underbrush of the world, - Wilt thou forget the names of flowers, - The rhythm of song and the lips, still balmy with the breasts of women? - When thou and the fog on the hilltop are as brother and sister, - Wilt thou forget utterly the ways of men, - The clash of swords and the sting of wine, - The dim horizons and the grace of girls? - When thou art alone eternally - What of the night? - - Where will God be - When thou art swathed in silence; - When the wreckage of dreams has crushed thee - And the lust for springtimes dissolved thee? - Wilt thou have visions only of the dawn - And autumn sunsets? - Will the memory of women’s faces haunt thy grave? - Will the odor of blue flowers find thy dust? - When thou art choking on the calm indifference of youth - And the everlasting beauty of trees, - Wilt thou dream only of the June, - The love of women and the great democracy of men? - - When thou hast fought and failed, - And thy brow has withered laurelless, - And thy name has been effaced by the insatiable winds, - And thou hast gone out at the Western gate - To join the laggards of the dead, - Wilt thou crave only the withheld success, - The transitory fame of twilight years? - Will thy soul cry out only for the song, - The red dawn and the glad triumph of love? - - Wilt thou indeed forget the days of pain, - The ineffectual prayers, - The lies of time and the bitterness of defeat? - Or, remembering these things, - Wilt thou forget the hands of women and the rude love of men, - And be glad of thy dark quietude? - - When thou art part of the impending gloom, - I deem that life will seem to thee - In no such wise,-- - But rather thou wilt dream it as a whole; - Not as a song, nor yet a broken bell; - But all that thou hast been--the great tears, - The rain, the kisses and the flutes, - The old sorrows and the hills at dawn, - Much laughter and much grief and the stern fight. - And thou shalt know how all of life is gain-- - The gold of youth, the gray defeat of age-- - How in the soul’s inharmony there lies - The incoherent unity of things. - - _The Forum_ _Willard Huntington Wright_ - - - - -A THRENODY - -IN MEMORY OF THE DESTRUCTION OF MESSINA BY EARTHQUAKE - - - Sicilian Muse! O thou who sittest dumb - Amid the sodden fields and ways forlorn, - Where once the herdsmen singing, watched their kine - Breast-deep in fragrance, odorous eve and morn; - Stranger to thee, yet led by love I come, - A suppliant sable-stoled, to mix with thine - My tears, and at thy shrine - Kindle a funeral torch for Sicily: - Give not the suppliant’s prayer the meed of blame! - Scorn not the stranger’s proffered oil and wine! - O thou from whom the heavenly madness came, - When Orpheus hymning struck his golden lute, - And stirred old memories in Persephone, - While all the lonely shades in hell stood mute - To watch the still-beloved Eurydice - Borne lightly upward on the silver surge - To Enna’s flowery verge;-- - Spirit august! Child of Mnemosyne! - With reverence and true humility - I break before thy feet my careless flute, - And wait upon my lips thy touch of flame: - Begin, Sicilian Muse! Begin the dirge! - O race unmindful of the Destinies! - The dread Euminides - Or Mœræ old, sent from Earth’s inmost core - A tremor, warning blindly ye who, blind, - See not the sleepless doom that evermore - Has watched your tragic shore - Since lost sea-rovers shaded first their eyes - To spy the riches of your waving store, - And grated up your sands with doubtful keel. - The startled jungle growled above its young; - The Arctic foxes snuffed the scentless wind; - But ye who knew yourselves a fated race, - That gods have loved and gods to hate exposed, - Though black the death clouds over Ætna hung, - Forgot the anguish in Pompeii’s face, - Beneath her half-drawn winding sheet disclosed; - Forgot white Lisbon’s doom, nor called to mind-- - In pleasant Zancle taking noonday ease-- - How, from its ashes by the western seas - A stricken Phœnix rises, stone and steel. - Fresh as her Poro flowers at early dawn, - When over Hybla’s hills the yellow bees - From aromatic blossoms shake the dew; - Fair as the maiden ere by dark Fate drawn, - She saw the wide earth yawn - Before the thunderous horses, and the strong - Arm of Aïdes crushed her gathered flowers; - So fresh, so fair, amid her storied seas, - She who remains through changes æon-long - A greater Helen wooed with sword and song, - Of mightier victors bride and battle prize, - Lay lapped in peace, when swift from Hades driven, - Upward the death-king came; the earth was riven, - And through the darkness rang her children’s cries. - Now Scylla unto fierce Charybdis calls, - While on the water spreads a crimson stain; - Now Galatea sobs in Ocean’s halls, - And vengeful Polyphemus laughs again. - The Nereids now in oozy caverns hide, - Where sea-kings of the old Æolian shore - Watch sunken argosies forevermore, - And tell their tales of dread Poseidon’s hate; - While dimly from the far, ensanguined tide - Patient Odysseus furrowed once of yore, - A glint of daylight through the darkness falls - On swaying helmets, tumbled bronze and gold, - On broidered vestments stiff and Tyrian dyed. - There hide they; but the sea-kings keep their state, - Telling of ancient dooms and deaths of old, - Nor know they how beside the darkened strait - And up the slopes of olive, vine and grain, - The dryads wail a land left desolate. - Wail thou, great Muse, the dear Sicilian land! - Now greater grief is thine than when of old - Young Adon in the Cyprian’s arms lay cold, - And Daphnis’ years were told. - Take thou the lyre from Time’s enfeebled hand; - Hushed is the music of Empedocles, - Of splendid Pindar, pure Simonides, - Bion and Moschus and Theocritus, - And those who unto us - Nameless, yet live as human memories. - Hushed is the last of all that laurelled band, - Hushed, or on Charon’s strand - Urging in vain petition dolorous, - To pass where Pan, his boyish pipings done, - Stands wistful, while the nymphs, by fear made bold, - Cling with their long lithe arms about his knees. - Wail thou, great Muse! or loose from Acheron - Some worthy bearer of the singing bough - Whose madness whirls me now - On melting wings too near the southern sun. - Yet why for aught on earth should grief be loud, - Since all that is, is born to pass away? - Hero and maiden to the urn are vowed, - And beauty saves not when the debt falls due; - Apollo with the darker gods has died, - And Gæa at the last shall be as they. - O Helen of the soul! O golden isle! - By beauty doomed, by beauty sanctified, - Thou too canst not abide, - But like all else shalt last a little while-- - A little longer than the falling spray-- - Then pass as planet dust or gaseous cloud, - To build new cosmos, gnawed by new decay. - Earth’s senseless atoms ever clasp and whirl, - Unclasp again to form in mazes new; - And ever on the white cliff stands some girl - With dead eyes gazing on the sailless blue. - Earth’s roses die, but still the rose lives on, - The song survives the swift Leucadian leap;-- - A dream of immortality is ours. - Where golden Daphnis in the morning shone, - Fresh sprung from Helicon, - New shepherds singing lead their careless sheep - Above the graves of Athens, Carthage, Rome, - Vandals and Moslems, and strange Northern Powers - That filled their destined hours, - And fed in turn the rich Sicilian loam, - Building, like coral insects from the deep, - Enchanted islands that till earth is gone, - Swept back to chaos in the atom swirl, - Shall be the seeker’s light, the spirit’s home. - Though Ætna crumble and the dark seas rise - Sowing the uplands with their sterile brine, - Still shall the soul descry with wistful eyes - Sicilian headlands bright with flower and fruit; - Still shall she hear, though all earth’s lips be mute, - Sicilian music in the morning skies. - Yea, deep within the heart of man it lies, - This visioned island bright with old romance, - A race inheritance - Of rest and joy and faith in things divine, - That shall endure awhile through change and chance, - And have the meaning of a childhood shrine, - Remembered when the faith of childhood dies. - Now fails the song, and down the lonely ways - The last low echoes die upon the breeze. - I lay my lyre upon the moveless knees - Of her who by the hollow roadway stays, - In anguish waiting for her children slain - That shall not come again - With springtime, leading the new lambs to graze. - They come no more; but while o’er hill and plain - The twilight darkens, and the evening rose - Aloft on Ætna glows, - Silent she sits amid the sodden leas, - With eyes that level on the ocean haze - Their unobserving stare, as seaward gaze - The eyes of stolid caryatides. - - _Scribner’s_ _Louis V. Ledoux_ - - - - -NOVEMBER - - - Hark you such sound as quivers? Kings will hear, - As kings have heard, and tremble on their thrones; - The old will feel the weight of mossy stones; - The young alone will laugh and scoff at fear. - It is the tread of armies marching near, - From scarlet lands to lands forever pale; - It is a bugle dying down the gale; - It is the sudden gushing of a tear. - And it is hands that grope at ghostly doors; - And romp of spirit children on the pave; - It is the tender sighing of the brave - Who fell, ah! long ago, in futile wars; - It is such sound as death; and, after all, - ’Tis but the forest letting dead leaves fall. - - _The Bellman_ _Mahlon Leonard Fisher_ - - - - -SALUTATION - - - Did you choose the journey, friend? - No, nor I; - But to make it cheerfully, - Let us try. - When the day is dark, I pray, - Sing a song to cheer the way, - For tomorrow we will be - One day nearer to the sea. - - Did you choose the journey, friend? - No, nor I; - But we know the end will come - By and by. - All today we bear the load - Up the weary winding road, - But tomorrow we may be - At the Inn in company. - - _The Independent_ _Ruth Sterry_ - - - - -HERE LIES PIERROT - - - The moon’s ashine; by many a lane - Walk wistful lovers to and fro; - It must be like old days again; - How they do love! _Here lies Pierrot._ - - She loved me once, did Columbine. - It sets my dusty heart aglow - Merely to lie and dream how fine - Her semblance was,--_Here lies Pierrot!_ - - Her perfumed presence, silks and lace, - Did madden men and wrought them woe; - For me alone her witching grace. - Where is she now? _Here lies Pierrot._ - - We two walked once beneath the moon-- - Yellow it hung, and large and low-- - And listened to the tender tune - Of nightingales,--_Here lies Pierrot!_ - - Our foolish vows of passion shook - The very stars, they trembled so. - How it comes back, her soft, shy look, - Now I am dead! _Here lies Pierrot!_ - - These other men and maids, who stroll - Through moonlit poplar trees arow, - Does each play the enchanted rôle - We phantoms played? _Here lies Pierrot!_ - - O joy, that I remember yet - Sweet follies of the long ago! - Dear heaven, I would not quite forget! - The moon’s ashine; _Here lies Pierrot!_ - - _Scribner’s_ _Richard Burton_ - - - - -LIST OF “DISTINCTIVE POEMS,” THEIR AUTHORS, AND THE MAGAZINES IN WHICH -THEY APPEARED - - - _Century_-- - - A Light Bearer. Marion Couthouy Smith. - - Unmasked. Madison Cawein. - - Robert Browning. Margaret Widdemer. - - Will’s Counsellor. Charles Wharton Stork. - - Song of the Open Land. Richard Burton. - - Along the Road. Robert Browning Hamilton. - - A Prayer. Louis Untermeyer. - - Charms. William Rose Benét. - - Deep Water Song. John Reed. - - Not Yet. Katharine Lee Bates. - - The Double Crowning. Amelia Josephine Burr. - - Vermont. Sarah N. Cleghorn. - - To a Scarlet Tanager. Grace Hazard Conkling. - - To the Experimenters. Charles Badger Clark, Jr. - - My Conscience. James Whitcomb Riley. - - The Little People. Amelia Josephine Burr. - - For a Blank Page. Austin Dobson. - - A Message from Italy. Margaret Widdemer. - - The Gentle Reader. Arthur Davison Ficke. - - Submarine Mountains. Cale Young Rice. - - The Last Faun. Helen Minturn Seymour. - - Ritual. William Rose Benét. - - Emergency. William Rose Benét. - - The Mother. Timothy Cole. - - Perugia. Amelia Josephine Burr. - - To Elsa, with a volume of the “Arabian Nights.” Grace Hazard Conkling. - - The Carpenter’s Son. Sara Teasdale. - - Sarvachraddên. Leonard Bacon. - - The Shoes of Happiness. Edwin Markham. - - Twilight Mystery. Madison Cawein. - - - _Harper’s_-- - - Presage. Richard Le Gallienne. - - The Festa. George Edward Woodberry. - - Panthea. Richard Le Gallienne. - - The Upland. Henry A. Beers. - - In April. Margaret Lee Ashley. - - Waiting. Charles Hanson Towne. - - May is Building Her House. Richard Le Gallienne. - - The Sea Hounds. Dora Sigerson Shorter. - - The Marble House. Ellen M. H. Gates. - - Loss. Jessie B. Rittenhouse. - - An Adieu. Florence Earle Coates. - - The Deep Places. Amelia Josephine Burr. - - The Seer. Alan Sullivan. - - This is Her Garden. Mildred Howells. - - Folk-Song. Louis Untermeyer. - - September Rain. Charles Hanson Towne. - - Heart’s Tide. Ethel M. Hewitt. - - The Wanderer. John Masefield. - - Wind. Fannie Stearns Davis. - - The Mother. Fannie Stearns Davis. - - By the Curb. James Stephens. - - God’s Will. Mildred Howells. - - On a Bright Winter Day. W. D. Howells. - - A Secret. Florence Earle Coates. - - Ghosts. Fannie Stearns Davis. - - Out of It All. Edith M. Thomas. - - Words. Ernest Rhys. - - The Telegram. Thomas Hardy. - - A Winter Reverie. James Stephens. - - - _Scribner’s_ - - Return. Curtis Hidden Page. - - Old Portraits Revisited. Sarah Cleghorn. - - The Old Remain. Madison Cawein. - - To Lie in the Lew. Margaret Vandegrift. - - The Secret. John Hall Wheelock. - - The Exile. Thomas Nelson Page. - - At Ease on Lethe’s Wharf. Helen Coale Crew. - - Discords. C. A. Price. - - In the Hospital. Arthur Guiterman. - - The Jail. Sarah Cleghorn. - - Song for a Child. Stark Young. - - Here Lies Pierrot. Richard Burton. - - Himself He Cannot Save. M. A. De Wolfe Howe. - - The River. Sara Teasdale. - - Love of Life. Tertius van Dyke. - - Daybreak in the Grand Canyon of Arizona. Henry van Dyke. - - A Threnody. Louis V. Ledoux. - - La Preciosa. Thomas Walsh. - - The Song of Love. E. Sutton. - - Sonnet. R. Henniker Heaton. - - No Night There. William Hervey Woods. - - In a Monastery Garden. Marjorie L. C. Pickthall. - - In the Old Pasture. Harriet Prescott Spofford. - - The Ghost. Hermann Hagedorn. - - Gran’ Boule. Henry van Dyke. - - A Likeness. Willa Sibert Cather. - - Sappho. Sara Teasdale. - - The Dead Forerunner. C. W. - - The Grief. Theodosia Garrison. - - The Enchantment. Laurence C. Hodgson. - - - _The Forum_-- - - What of the Night? Willard Huntington Wright. - - The Italian Dead March. Shaemas OSheel. - - The Girl Who Went to Ailey. Arthur Stringer. - - Copper Mountain. Edwin D. Schoonmaker. - - The Republic. Madison Cawein. - - The Factory. Harry Kemp. - - Earth’s Deities. Bliss Carman. - - St. John and the Faun. George Edward Woodberry. - - The Ring Fighters. Francis Hill. - - Journey. Edna St. Vincent Millay. - - The Swordless Christ. Percy Adams Hutchison. - - Shipwreck. Hermann Hagedorn. - - The City That Will Not Repent. Nicholas Vachel Lindsay. - - The Old Maid. Sara Teasdale. - - Evening on Brooklyn Bridge. Allan Updegraff. - - Mother-Heart. Anna Spencer Twitchell. - - Departure. John Hall Wheelock. - - A Prayer for Beauty. Witter Bynner. - - School. Percy Mackaye. - - Off Viareggio. Chester Allyn Reed. - - In the Maternity Ward. Florence Earle Coates. - - The Kallyope Yell. Nicholas Vachel Lindsay. - - Birth. Frances Gregg. - - For Those Dear Dead. Elaine Goodale Eastman. - - Crossroads. Louis V. Ledoux. - - Thanksgiving for Our Task. Shaemas OSheel. - - Point Bonita. Witter Bynner. - - - _Lippincott’s_-- - - The Common Road. Jane Belfield. - - Quatrain. Charles Wharton Stork. - - The True Prophet. Richard Kirk. - - Of Melodies Unheard. Mahlon Leonard Fisher. - - The Neighbor. Marguerite O. B. Wilkinson. - - A New Friend, An Old Friend. Madison Cawein. - - I Heard a Voice. Florence Earle Coates. - - The Inn. Mary Eleanor Roberts. - - Of an Artist. Charles Wharton Stork. - - Rich Man, Poor Man--. Francis Hill. - - The Cry of Man-Heart. J. B. E. - - In Remembrance. Florence Earle Coates. - - Troubadour Song. Frederick H. Martens. - - Discontent. Frederick H. Martens. - - Immutabilis. Mahlon Leonard Fisher. - - Half the World Between Us. Mary Coles Carrington. - - The Jew in America. Felix N. Gerson. - - “Magnas Nugas.” Louise Ayres Garnett. - - The Maid of the Ghetto. Herman Scheffauer. - - The Coming of the King. Susie M. Best. - - The Conqueror. Eleanor Duncan Wood. - - - _The Bellman_-- - - Lie Awake Songs. Amelia Josephine Burr. - - Where Dives Lived. Mahlon Leonard Fisher. - - As in the Beginning. M. E. Buhler. - - In Memoriam. Herbert J. Hall. - - Breaking the Road. Lewis Worthington Smith. - - The Fairy Tree. Ethel Barstow Howard. - - Folly. Joyce Kilmer. - - Richard Wagner. Agnes Lee. - - Fra Angelico. Richard Burton. - - In Cool, Green Haunts. Mahlon Leonard Fisher. - - Pompeii at Dusk. Arthur Stringer. - - The Migrant. Theresa V. Beard. - - In the Cornfield. Joseph Warren Beach. - - St. Alexis. Joyce Kilmer. - - The Return. Mahlon Leonard Fisher. - - Mediæval. Florence Earle Coates. - - Children of the Night. Amelia Josephine Burr. - - The Guardian Deeps. Ruth Shepard Phelps. - - The Blind Gypsy. Kenneth Rand. - - The Shadow. Madison Cawein. - - The Speckled Trout. Madison Cawein. - - Petruchio’s Wife. Amelia Josephine Burr. - - November. Mahlon Leonard Fisher. - - Christmas Downtown. Richard Burton. - - After an Ice-Storm. Amelia Josephine Burr. - - - _Smart Set_-- - - The Voice of Nemesis. John G. Neihardt. - - The Adventurer. Gordon Johnstone. - - Heartbroken. Harry Kemp. - - A Song. Lisette Woodworth Reese. - - The Outcast. Arthur Stringer. - - The Rack. George Sterling. - - A Ballade of Too Much Beauty. Richard Le Gallienne. - - Lyrics of Spring. Bliss Carman. - - In the Cool of the Evening. Witter Bynner. - - Morning-Glories. John G. Neihardt. - - Two Songs. John Hall Wheelock. - - Syrinx. Bliss Carman. - - The Laboratory. Ludwig Lewisohn. - - Ballade of Youth to Swinburne. Orrick Johns. - - Later. Willard Huntington Wright. - - Songs of Summer. Bliss Carman. - - Au Marigny. Royal Craig. - - Memory. Naomi Lange. - - Woman the Mystical. John Hall Wheelock. - - To a Young Poet Who Killed Himself. Joyce Kilmer. - - Ghosts. Marguerite Mooers Marshall. - - The Sin Eater. Ruth Comfort Mitchell. - - Enough. Sara Teasdale. - - Song. John Hall Wheelock. - - The Harvest Hand. Harry Kemp. - - A Greek Lover of Queen Maeve. Eleanor Rogers Cox. - - Humming Birds. Arthur Stringer. - - Human. Richard Burton. - - The Great Carousal. Louis Untermeyer. - - A Woman of the Streets. Charles Hanson Towne. - - A Ballad to a Friend. Richard Le Gallienne. - - Challenge. Louis Untermeyer. - - A Mountain Gateway. Bliss Carman. - - Violets. D. H. Lawrence. - - Rain in the Night. John Vance Cheney. - - Lest I Learn. Witter Bynner. - - After Parting. Sara Teasdale. - - Kisses in the Train. D. H. Lawrence. - - The Dotage of Duns Scotus. Donn Byrne. - - Desiderium. Richard Le Gallienne. - - The Rainbow Chaser. Kenneth Rand. - - The Mowers. D. H. Lawrence. - - In the Market Place. George Sterling. - - Winter. Sara Teasdale. - - The Shadow. Witter Bynner. - - Then and Now. Richard Burton. - - Song Against Women. Willard Huntington Wright. - - Fifty Years Spent. Maxwell Struthers Burt. - - Of Moira Up the Glen. Edward J. O’Brien. - - - - -THE “BEST POEMS” CHOSEN FROM THE “DISTINCTIVE” LIST - - - A Likeness. Willa Sibert Cather. - - Ghosts. Marguerite Mooers Marshall. - - November. Mahlon Leonard Fisher. - - Perugia. Amelia Josephine Burr. - - God’s Will. Mildred Howells. - - The Swordless Christ. Percy Adams Hutchison. - - The Field of Glory. Edwin Arlington Robinson. - - Love of Life. Tertius van Dyke. - - Thanksgiving for Our Task. Shaemas OSheel. - - Trees. Joyce Kilmer. - - In the Hospital. Arthur Guiterman. - - Night-Sentries. George Sterling. - - Of Moira Up the Glen. Edward J. O’Brien. - - On the Birth of a Child. Louis Untermeyer. - - Rich Man, Poor Man--. Francis Hill. - - In a Forgotten Burying-Ground. Ruth Guthrie Harding. - - A Mountain Gateway. Bliss Carman. - - Wind. Fannie Stearns Davis. - - What of the Night? Willard Huntington Wright. - - Heart’s Tide. Ethel M. Hewitt. - - May is Building Her House. Richard Le Gallienne. - - An Adieu. Florence Earle Coates. - - A Threnody. Louis V. Ledoux. - - Over the Wintry Threshold. Bliss Carman. - - Waiting. Charles Hanson Towne. - - The Ghost. Hermann Hagedorn. - - School. Percy MacKaye. - - Lest I Learn. Witter Bynner. - - Human. Richard Burton. - - Desiderium. Richard Le Gallienne. - - Hymn to Demeter. Louis V. Ledoux. - - Departure. John Hall Wheelock. - - The Sin Eater. Ruth Comfort Mitchell. - - The Kallyope Yell. Nicholas Vachel Lindsay. - - Train-Mates. Witter Bynner. - - The Marvelous Munchausen. William Rose Benét. - - The Old Maid. Sara Teasdale. - - Later. Willard Huntington Wright. - - Sappho. Sara Teasdale. - - To a Child Falling Asleep. Robert Alden Sanborn. - - St. John and the Faun. George Edward Woodberry. - - In April. Margaret Lee Ashley. - - In the Cool of the Evening. Witter Bynner. - - Shipwreck. Hermann Hagedorn. - - Vermont. Sarah N. Cleghorn. - - The Little People. Amelia Josephine Burr. - - Winter. Sara Teasdale. - - The Dotage of Duns Scotus. Donn Byrne. - - Memory. Naomi Lange. - - A Ballad of Too Much Beauty. Richard Le Gallienne. - - Morning Glories. John G. Neihardt. - - The Adventurer. Gordon Johnstone. - - A Secret Florence. Earle Coates. - - Out of It All. Edith M. Thomas. - - Ghosts. Fannie Stearns Davis. - - The Mother. Fannie Stearns Davis. - - My Conscience. James Whitcomb Riley. - - The Festa. George Edward Woodberry. - - Of an Artist. Charles Wharton Stork. - - Of Melodies Unheard. Mahlon Leonard Fisher. - - I Heard a Voice. Florence Earle Coates. - - Along the Road. Robert Browning Hamilton. - - The Double Crowning. Amelia Josephine Burr. - - Deep Water Song. John Reed. - - To Elsa, with a volume of the “Arabian Nights.” Grace Hazard Conkling. - - Song for a Child. Stark Young. - - The River. Sara Teasdale. - - La Preciosa. Thomas Walsh. - - The Song of Love. E. Sutton. - - The Dead Forerunner. C. W. - - Here Lies Pierrot. Richard Burton. - - The Girl Who Went to Ailey. Arthur Stringer. - - Mother-Heart. Anna Spencer Twitchell. - - God’s World. Edna St. Vincent Millay. - - Soft Is Spring over Grand Pré. Bliss Carman. - - A Woman of the Streets. Charles Hanson Towne. - - The Republic. Madison Cawein. - - Woman the Mystical. John Hall Wheelock. - - Daybreak in the Grand Cañon of Arizona. Henry van Dyke. - - The Shoes of Happiness. Edwin Markham. - - The Wanderer. John Masefield. - - The Harvest Hand. Harry Kemp. - - The Factory. Harry Kemp. - - Gran’ Boule, a Seaman’s Tale of the Sea. Henry van Dyke. - - The Vision of Gettysburg. Robert Underwood Johnson. - - The Anvil of Souls. William Rose Benét. - - - - -TITLES AND AUTHORS OF ALL POEMS APPEARING IN THE SEVEN MAGAZINES FOR -1918 - - -CENTURY - - - _January_-- - - A Light-Bearer. Marion Couthouy Smith. - - Unmasked. Madison Cawein. - - Sleep. Katharine French. - - Robert Browning. Margaret Widdemer. - - Semele. Grace Denio Litchfield. - - - _February_-- - - Will’s Counsellor. Charles Wharton Stork. - - Song of the Open Land. Richard Burton. - - Along the Road. Robert Browning Hamilton. - - A Prayer. Louis Untermeyer. - - - _March_-- - - Charms. William Rose Benét. - - Deep Water Song. John Reed. - - Where Am I While I Sleep? Grace Denio Litchfield. - - Not Yet. Katharine Lee Bates. - - The Double Crowning. Amelia J. Burr. - - -_April_-- - - The Rear-Guard. Leonard Bacon. - - The Temple of Aphrodite. Alfred Noyes. - - Winter-Sleep. Edith M. Thomas. - - Vermont. Sarah N. Cleghorn. - - The Lingering Snow. Harriet Prescott Spofford. - - The Voice of the Dove. George Sterling. - - -_May_-- - - A Last Message. Grace Denio Litchfield. - - To a Scarlet Tanager. Grace Hazard Conkling. - - To the Experimenters. Charles Badger Clark, Jr. - - The Young Heart in Age. Edith M. Thomas. - - The Wine of Night. Louis Untermeyer. - - -_June_-- - - Off Capri. Sara Teasdale. - - At the Closed Gate of Justice. James D. Corrothers. - - To Alfred Noyes. Edwin Markham. - - Finis. William H. Hayne. - - Invulnerable. William Rose Benét. - - -_July_-- - - My Conscience. James Whitcomb Riley. - - House-without-Roof. Edith M. Thomas. - - Sierra Madre. Henry van Dyke. - - Prayers for the Living. Mary W. Plummer. - - The Little People. Amelia Josephine Burr. - - Beauty in Eden. Alfred Noyes. - - The High Tide at Gettysburg. Will H. Thompson. - - For a Blank Page. Austin Dobson. - - Maurice Maeterlinck. Stephen Phillips. - - -_August_-- - - A Double Star. Leroy Titus Weeks. - - A Message from Italy. Margaret Widdemer. - - The Marvelous Munchausen. William Rose Benét. - - Wingèd Victory. Victor Whitlock. - - To a Royal Mummy. Anna Glen Stoddard. - - -_September_-- - - The Gentle Reader. Arthur Davison Ficke. - - Submarine Mountains. Cale Young Rice. - - The Last Faun. Helen Minturn Seymour. - - Ritual. William Rose Benét. - - -_October_-- - - The Beggar. James W. Foley. - - Emergency. William Rose Benét. - - The Mother. Timothy Cole. - - -_November_-- - - Perugia. Amelia Josephine Burr. - - To Elsa. Grace Hazard Conkling. - - Ex Oriente. R. H. Titherington. - - -_December_-- - - The Carpenter’s Son. Sara Teasdale. - - Sarvachraddên. Leonard Bacon. - - Silence and Night. Ednah Proctor Clarke. - - The Shoes of Happiness. Edwin Markham. - - Twilight Mystery. Madison Cawein. - - -HARPER’S - - -_January_-- - - Presage. Richard Le Gallienne. - - At Evening. B. MacArthur. - - Transients. Theodosia Garrison. - - -_February_-- - - Moonshine. George Harris, Jr. - - The Festa. G. E. Woodberry. - - Night-Sentries. George Sterling. - - Ruth. Samuel McCoy. - - -_March_-- - - Panthea. Richard Le Gallienne. - - The Upland. Henry A. Beers. - - Transit. Anna McClure Sholl. - - Sunrise in New York. Alan Sullivan. - - In the Night-Watches. James B. Kenyon. - - Pine-trees. Jennie Coker Lea. - - -_April_-- - - “Sweet, When Life Is Done.” Anne Bunner. - - Immensity. Harriet Prescott Spofford. - - A Folk-Song. Margaret Widdemer. - - In April. Margaret Lee Ashley. - - Waiting. Charles Hanson Towne. - - -_May_-- - - The Dreamers. Theodosia Garrison. - - The Common Lot. Lisette Woodworth Reese. - - May is Building Her House. Richard Le Gallienne. - - -_June_-- - - The Sea Hounds. Dora Sigerson Shorter. - - The Marble House. Ellen M. H. Gates. - - The Old House. Ethel Augusta Cook. - - Loss. Jessie B. Rittenhouse. - - -_July_-- - - In a Rose Garden. Amory Hare Cook. - - An Adieu. Florence Earle Coates. - - The Deep Places. Amelia Josephine Burr. - - With the Daisies. James Stephens. - - The Seer. Alan Sullivan. - - -_August_-- - - This Is Her Garden. Mildred Howells. - - Day and Night. James Stephens. - - When. Ellen M. H. Gates. - - Folk-Song. Louis Untermeyer. - - Summer in the City. Charles Hanson Towne. - - -_September_-- - - The Voice. Albert Bigelow Paine. - - September Rain. Charles Hanson Towne. - - Heart’s Tide. Ethel M. Hewitt. - - The Wanderer. John Masefield. - - Wind. Fannie Stearns Davis. - - Chanson à Danser. Louise Morgan Sill. - - -_October_-- - - The First Year. Ellen M. H. Gates. - - The Mother. Fannie Stearns Davis. - - By the Curb. James Stephens. - - God’s Will. Mildred Howells. - - -_November_-- - - To the Cuckoo. Henrietta Anne Huxley. - - On a Bright Winter Day. W. D. Howells. - - Flower of Life. Charlotte Wilson. - - A Secret. Florence Earle Coates. - - Ghosts. Fannie Stearns Davis. - - All Souls. Edith M. Thomas. - - -_December_-- - - Out of It All. Edith M. Thomas. - - The Voice. Louise Morgan Sill. - - Words. Ernest Rhys. - - Understanding. Anna Alice Chapin. - - The Telegram. Thomas Hardy. - - A Winter Reverie. James Stephens. - - -SCRIBNER’S - - -_January_-- - - Awakening. Julia C. R. Dorr. - - Forget Me Not. Oliver Herford. - - On Her Saint’s Day. E. Sutton. - - Return. Curtis Hidden Page. - - -_February_-- - - The Hour When Love Repays. Ann Devoore. - - -_March_-- - - The Rocket. Louise Saunders Perkins. - - Old Portraits Revisited. Sarah N. Cleghorn. - - Winter Flowers. Ruth Draper. - - The Old Remain. Madison Cawein. - - -_April_-- - - “To Lie in the Lew.” Margaret Vandegrift - - The Shadowy City Looms. Lloyd Mifflin. - - Petronius Arbiter. James B. Kenyon. - - In the Heart of the Swamp. William Hamilton Hayne. - - -_May_-- - - Song. Julia C. R. Dorr. - - The Secret. John Hall Wheelock. - - The Exile. Thomas Nelson Page. - - -_June_-- - - “At Ease on Lethe Wharf.” Helen Coale Crewe. - - Discords. C. A. Price. - - The Catch. John Kendrick Bangs. - - -_July_-- - - In the Hospital. Arthur Guiterman. - - The Jail. Sarah N. Cleghorn. - - Song for a Child. Stark Young. - - -_August_-- - - Here Lies Pierrot. Richard Burton. - - “Himself He Cannot Save.” M. A. DeWolfe Howe. - - The River. Sara Teasdale. - - Love of Life. Tertius van Dyke. - - The Hill-Born. Maxwell Struthers Burt. - - -_September_-- - - Daybreak in the Grand Canyon of Arizona. Henry van Dyke. - - A Threnody. Louis V. Ledoux. - - “The Rest Is Silence.” William H. Hayne. - - La Preciosa. Thomas Walsh. - - The Song of Love. E. Sutton. - - Sonnet R. Henniker Heaton. - - -_October_-- - - No Night There. William Hervey Woods. - - The Choice. Julia C. R. Dorr. - - -_November_-- - - In a Monastery Garden. Marjorie L. C. Pickthall. - - In the Old Pasture. Harriet Prescott Spofford. - - The Ghost. Hermann Hagedorn. - - -_December_-- - - “Gran’ Boule.” Henry van Dyke. - - The Minster Statue on Christmas Eve. Benjamin R. C. Low. - - A Likeness. Willa Sibert Cather. - - Sappho. Sara Teasdale. - - The Way to Inde. L. Brooke. - - The Dead Forerunner. C. W. - - The Grief. Theodosia Garrison. - - Enchantment. Laurence C. Hodgson. - - -THE FORUM - - -_January_-- - - What of the Night? Willard Huntington Wright. - - “Feuerzauber.” Louis Untermeyer. - - Two Poems. Herbert Kaufman. - - The Italian Dead March. Shaemas OSheel. - - -_February_-- - - The Girl Who Went to Ailey. Arthur Stringer. - - Copper Mountain. Edwin Davies Schoonmaker. - - Sea-Child. Hildegarde Hawthorne. - - Love’s Constancy. Charles L. Buchanan. - - -_March_-- - - The Republic. Madison Cawein. - - Where is David, The Next King of Israel? Nicholas Vachel Lindsay. - - The Factory. Harry Kemp. - - -_April_-- - - Earth Deities. Bliss Carman. - - Mary. Victor Starbuck. - - St. John and the Faun. G. E. Woodberry. - - -_May_-- - - Tiger. Witter Bynner. - - The Common Road. Martin Schütze. - - The Ring Fighters. Francis Hill. - - Journey. Edna St. Vincent Millay. - - -_June_-- - - The Swordless Christ. Percy Adams Hutchison. - - The Rivals. Scudder Middleton. - - Shipwreck. Hermann Hagedorn. - - -_July_-- - - God’s World. Edna St. Vincent Millay. - - The City That Will Not Repent. Nicholas Vachel Lindsay. - - The Old Maid. Sara Teasdale. - - -_August_-- - - Moods at May-Dawn. John Helston. - - Poems. Allan Updegraff. - - Song Primitive. Francis Hill. - - Mother-Heart. Anna Spencer Twitchell. - - -_September_-- - - The Voice of the Lord. E. D. Schoonmaker. - - Reverie. Zoë Akins. - - Departure. John Hall Wheelock. - - A Prayer for Beauty. Witter Bynner. - - A City Morning. Edith Wyatt. - - Out from Lynn. Lewis Worthington Smith. - - -_October_-- - - School. Percy MacKaye. - - Prithee, Strive Not. Harry Kemp. - - Off Viareggio. Chester Allyn Reed. - - In the Maternity Ward. Florence Earle Coates. - - The Poet of the Slums. Frank E. Hill. - - -_November_-- - - The Kallyope Yell. Nicholas Vachel Lindsay. - - Birth. Frances Gregg. - - For Those Dear Dead. Elaine Goodale Eastman. - - Crossroads. Louis V. Ledoux. - - -_December_-- - - Thanksgiving for Our Task. Shaemas OSheel. - - Pont Royal. Joseph Warren Beach. - - Whispers. Lyman Bryson. - - Point Bonita. Witter Bynner. - - To An Old Friend. Arthur Davison Ficke. - - The Dead Soul. Beatrice Redpath. - - -LIPPINCOTT’S - - -_February_-- - - The Common Road. Jane Belfield. - - Quatrain. Charles Wharton Stork. - - The Blind. Faith Baldwin. - - Dreams. Arthur Wallace Peach. - - Life. Harold Susman. - - -_March_-- - - “If a Lad Love a Lass.” Arthur Wallace Peach. - - The True Prophet. Richard Kirk. - - Of Melodies Unheard. Mahlon Leonard Fisher. - - Rapture. George Platt Waller, Jr. - - The Neighbor. Marguerite O. B. Wilkinson. - - Lines for a Sun-Dial. Harvey M. Watts. - - -_April_-- - - The Smaller Voice. Richard Kirk. - - A New Friend, An Old Friend. Madison Cawein. - - The Oak That Fell This Morning. Jane Belfield. - - Bestowal. J. B. E. - - I Heard a Voice. Florence Earle Coates. - - I Wonder Is There Laughter? Ethel M. Colson. - - The Old House. Marie V. Caruthers. - - -_May_-- - - The Seasons of the Heart. Edward Wilbur Mason. - - A Birthday. William Stanley Braithwaite. - - The Inn. Mary Eleanor Roberts. - - Of An Artist. Charles Wharton Stork. - - -_June_-- - - June. Charles Hanson Towne. - - Rich Man, Poor Man--. Francis Hill. - - The Cry of Man-Heart. J. B. E. - - The Cherished. Arthur Wallace Peach. - - Solitude. J. J. O’Connell. - - -_July_-- - - Gettysburg. H. Percival Allen. - - In Remembrance. Florence Earle Coates. - - Symbols. Arthur Wallace Peach. - - Sympathy. Ella Sollenberger. - - If You Knew--. Ethel Hallett Porter. - - Troubadour Song. Frederick H. Martens. - - At Dawn. Grace E. Mott. - - -_August_-- - - Discontent. Frederick H. Martens. - - Immutabilis. Mahlon Leonard Fisher. - - In Exile. James B. Kenyon. - - An Idyl. Carolyn Wells. - - Half the World Between Us. Mary Coles Carrington. - - The Jew in America. Felix N. Gerson. - - The Cosmic Thrall. Jane Belfield. - - Doubt. Margaret Louise Loudon. - - -_September_-- - - The Poet to His Love. Norma Bright Carson. - - Mother-of-Pearl. Mary Eleanor Roberts. - - Supreme Moments. Charles Hanson Towne. - - Ripples. Thomas Grant Springer. - - Return. Nancy Byrd Turner. - - -_October_-- - - Benedicite. W. J. Lampton. - - The Hour. Sara Teasdale. - - Heritage. Ella Morrow Sollenberger. - - Your Way and Mine. Richard Kirk. - - Quatrain. Mary Eleanor Roberts. - - -_November_-- - - Color Notes. Charles Wharton Stork. - - Unattainable. Reginald Wright Kauffman. - - To Two Bereaved. Richard Kirk. - - A Violin. Clinton Scollard. - - “Magnas Nugas.” Louise Ayres Garnett. - - The Maid of the Ghetto. Herman Scheffauer. - - -_December_-- - - The Witch-Moon. Charlotte Wilson. - - Starlight. Ethel Hallett Porter. - - The Coming of the King. Susie M. Best. - - The Conqueror. Eleanor Duncan Wood. - - Christmas Eve. Caroline Giltinan. - - -THE BELLMAN - - Cantiga. Thomas Walsh. - - Forbidden Wisdom. Ethel Talbot Scheffauer. - - I That Have Lived. C. T. Ryder. - - Lie Awake Songs. A. J. Burr. - - Tarpaulin Cove. Henry Adams Bellows. - - Where Dives Lived. Mahlon Leonard Fisher. - - Whither Away. Lewis Worthington Smith. - - At the Winter Solstice. M. E. Buhler. - - Ballade of Lent. Arthur Adams. - - As in the Beginning. M. E. Buhler. - - On the Drive. Charles Badger Clark, Jr. - - Two Houses. Agnes Lee. - - In Memoriam. Herbert J. Hall. - - The Night Herder. Charles Badger Clark, Jr. - - Breaking the Road. Lewis Worthington Smith. - - The Fairy Tree. Ethel Barstow Howard. - - Folly. Joyce Kilmer. - - Richard Wagner. Agnes Lee. - - To Sappho Dead. Florence Earle Coates. - - Tintagel. Hamilton Fish Armstrong. - - Fra Angelico. Richard Burton. - - Songs We May Not Sing. Barr Moses. - - Ludwig of Bavaria. Amelia Josephine Burr. - - In Cool, Green Haunts. Mahlon Leonard Fisher. - - Pompeii at Dusk. Arthur Stringer. - - Wind at Night. Ethel Talbot Scheffauer. - - The Migrant. Theresa V. Beard. - - In the Cornfield. Joseph W. Beach. - - Lesbia. Henry Adams Bellows. - - Lie Awake Song. Amelia Josephine Burr. - - St. Alexis. Joyce Kilmer. - - En Rapport. Alice McCray Walther. - - Two Partings. Reginald Wright Kauffman. - - The Return. Mahlon Leonard Fisher. - - Medieval. Florence Earle Coates. - - Vigil. Richard Burton. - - Children of the Night. Amelia J. Burr. - - The Guardian Deeps. Ruth Shepard Phelps. - - Empire. William Rose Benét. - - Phantom Shoal. J. Donald Adams. - - The Blind Gypsy. Kenneth Rand. - - The Shadow. Madison Cawein. - - The Speckled Trout. Madison Cawein. - - Stories. Lewis Worthington Smith. - - Petruchio’s Wife. Amelia J. Burr. - - November. Mahlon Leonard Fisher. - - Christmas Downtown. Richard Burton. - - After an Ice-Storm. Amelia J. Burr. - - -THE SMART SET - - -_January_-- - - The Voice of Nemesis. John G. Neihardt. - - This White December Morning. Gordon Johnstone. - - Christmas Eve. Florence Wilkinson. - - The Other Side. Guy Templeton. - - When Pierrot Passes. Theodosia Garrison. - - A Ballade of Hope. Brian Bellasis. - - The Land of Dreams-Come-True. Frank Stephens. - - Why? E. Graves Mabie. - - Theory and Practice. Walt Mason. - - I Commute. Mrs. J. L. O’Connell. - - -_February_-- - - To My Valentine. Glenn Ward Dresbach. - - The Adventurer. Gordon Johnstone. - - Rain and Sunshine. Charles F. Lummis. - - Mine Utmost Hour. Charles Hanson Towne. - - The Harmony of the Spheres. Blanche Elisabeth Wade. - - Two of a Kind. Eunice Ward. - - The Isle of Truth. John Kendrick Bangs. - - Maiden Lane. Louis Untermeyer. - - Vagabondage. Katherine Williams Sinclair. - - Young Maidens Early Dead. Gertrude Huntington McGiffert. - - -_March_-- - - Her Home-Coming. James B. Kenyon. - - The Old Boulevardier. Reginald Wright Kauffman. - - Heartbreak. Harry Kemp. - - A Song. Lisette Woodworth Reese. - - The Mad Sea King. Harrold Skinner. - - Guerdons. Arthur Wallace Peach. - - Gray Hours. Mrs. John Schwartz. - - The Outcast. Arthur Stringer. - - Gipsy Blood. Martha Haskell Clark. - - Les Corbeaux. Philéas Lebesgue. - - -_April_-- - - The Rack. George Sterling. - - Tell Me. Edgar Saltus. - - April Song. Willard Huntington Wright. - - A Ballad of Too Much Beauty. Richard Le Gallienne. - - Regrets. H. E. Zimmerman. - - At Dawn You Go. Eleanor Walsh. - - Lyrics of Spring. Bliss Carman. - - Faith. Archibald Sullivan. - - In the Cool of the Evening. Witter Bynner. - - Morning Glories. John G. Neihardt - - Two Songs. John Hall Wheelock. - - Into Arcady. Marsh K. Powers. - - Spring in Japan. Louis Untermeyer. - - -_May_-- - - Syrinx. Bliss Carman. - - Challenge. John Hall Wheelock. - - A Spring Afternoon. Louis Untermeyer. - - Union Square. Witter Bynner. - - The Laboratory. Ludwig Lewisohn. - - Ballade of Youth to Swinburne. Orrick Johns. - - “My Country, ’Tis of Thee.” Irvin S. Cobb. - - Broadway. Sara Teasdale. - - Black and White. K. B. Boynton. - - A Cabaret Dancer. Zoë Akins. - - Later. Willard Huntington Wright. - - Etre Poète. Georges Boutelleau. - - -_June_-- - - Songs of Summer. Bliss Carman. - - Nocturne. Edward Heyman Pfeiffer. - - Yesterdays. Reginald Wright Kauffman. - - A Ballad of Saint Vitus. George Sylvester Viereck. - - Au Marigny. Royal Craig. - - Memory. Naomi Lange. - - Woman the Mystical. John Hall Wheelock. - - The Chill of Death. Paul Scott Mowrer. - - Carnival Night. Philip Markhall. - - Drought. Lisette Woodworth Reese. - - To a Young Poet Who Killed Himself. Joyce Kilmer. - - “Lilith.” Louis Untermeyer. - - Prayer. Sara Teasdale. - - Ghosts. Marguerite Mooers Marshall. - - -_July_-- - - The Sin Eater. Ruth Comfort Mitchell. - - Servant Girl and Grocer’s Boy. Joyce Kilmer. - - Enough. Sara Teasdale. - - Thanks. Louis Untermeyer. - - Song. John Hall Wheelock. - - The Harvest Hand. Harry Kemp. - - Lyric. Gerald Dinwiddie. - - Daphne. Bliss Carman. - - The Monks at Choir Time. Florence Wilkinson. - - The Poor Little Lady. Allan Updegraff. - - The Summons. Reginald Wright Kauffman. - - A Greek Lover of Queen Maeve. Eleanor Rogers Cox. - - A Desert Song. Clinton Scollard. - - Bachelors. René Laidlaw. - - The Happy Man. Jane Almard. - - Humming Birds. Arthur Stringer. - - Romance. Arthur Ketchum. - - -_August_-- - - The Master Mariner. George Sterling. - - The Song of the Wheat. C. L. Marsh. - - Human. Richard Burton. - - Home-Coming. Norreys Jephson O’Conor. - - Breath. Witter Bynner. - - The Bartender. Joyce Kilmer. - - The Great Carousal. Louis Untermeyer. - - The Wine Press. Theodore Lynch FitzSimons. - - Without Inconstancy. Harry Kemp. - - Sea Longing. Sara Teasdale. - - The Crickets. Henry Eastman Lower. - - Serenade. J. W. Wood. - - L’Ame des Choses. Florian-Parmentier. - - Wail of a Waitress. Ethel M. Kelley. - - -_September_-- - - Poems. Ezra Pound. - - Heart of the World. Maxwell Struthers Burt. - - The Three Hermits. William Butler Yeats. - - A Woman of the Streets. Charles Hanson Towne. - - A Ballad to a Friend. Richard Le Gallienne. - - Challenge. Louis Untermeyer. - - A Mountain Gateway. Bliss Carman. - - Fellow Travelers. Achmed Abdullah. - - The Close. C. Hilton-Turvey. - - The Stage Entrance. Frederick Lovelace Macon. - - The Shadow of Aspiration. Robert Haven Schauffler. - - A Day. Arthur Wallace Peach. - - Violets. D. H. Lawrence. - - An Old House. Samuel McCoy. - - Naples. Charmy. - - Rain i’ the Night. John Vance Cheney. - - Lest I Learn. Witter Bynner. - - -_October_-- - - After Parting. Sara Teasdale. - - October. Bliss Carman. - - Kisses in the Train. D. H. Lawrence. - - To Certain Poets. Joyce Kilmer. - - “Phasellus Ille.” Ezra Pound. - - The Dotage of Duns Scotus. Donn Byrne. - - Desiderium. Richard Le Gallienne. - - Love. Skipwith Cannell. - - The Rainbow Chaser. Kenneth Rand. - - -_November_-- - - The Mowers. D. H. Lawrence. - - At Dayfall in the Streets of Samarcand. Clinton Scollard. - - In the Market Place. George Sterling. - - The Enemy. Louisa Fletcher Tarkington. - - Autumnal. Madison Cawein. - - A Dead One. Witter Bynner. - - Portrait d’Une Femme. Ezra Pound. - - Poppies. W. G. Tinckom-Fernandez. - - The Victor. Louis Untermeyer. - - Winter. Sara Teasdale. - - Fairy Gold. Richard Le Gallienne. - - Dedication. Willard Huntington Wright. - - The Ballet. K. B. Boynton. - - -_December_-- - - Dance of the Sunbeams. Bliss Carman. - - The Shadow. Witter Bynner. - - Zenia. Ezra Pound. - - Then and Now. Richard Burton. - - Song against Women. Willard Huntington Wright. - - Song. K. B. Boynton. - - Fifty Years Spent. Maxwell Struthers Burt. - - Of Moira Up the Glen. Edward J. O’Brien. - - The Last Monster. George Sterling. - - - - -INDEX OF FIRST LINES - - - PAGE - Aye, down the years, behold, he rides. - _Percy Adams Hutchison_ 54 - - - Because on the branch that is tapping my pane. - _Arthur Guiterman_ 7 - - - Did you choose the journey, friend? - _Ruth Sterry_ 62 - - Distant as a dream’s flight. - _John G. Neihardt_ 17 - - - Eternal in the brooding of the old Norwegian spruces. - _Ruth Guthrie Harding_ 4 - - Ever as sinks the day on sea or land. - _George Sterling_ 52 - - - Face in the tomb, that lies so still. - _Richard Le Gallienne_ 22 - - For the sake of a weathered gray city set high on a hill. - _Amelia J. Burr_ 25 - - - God meant me to be hungry. - _Mildred Howells_ 8 - - - Hark ye! Hush ye! Margot’s dead. - _Ruth Comfort Mitchell_ 50 - - Hark you such sound as quivers? Kings will hear. - _Mahlon Leonard Fisher_ 61 - - How an image of paint and wood. - _Agnes Lee_ 12 - - - I know a vale where I would go one day. - _Bliss Carman_ 24 - - I saw her in a Broadway car. - _Sara Teasdale_ 19 - - I think that I shall never see. - _Joyce Kilmer_ 7 - - I thought I had forgotten you. - _Ethel M. Hewitt_ 21 - - I thought my heart would break. - _Charles Hanson Towne_ 22 - - I went to the place where my youth took birth. - _Willard Huntington Wright_ 18 - - If I am slow forgetting. - _Margaret Lee Ashley_ 3 - - In every line a supple beauty. - _Willa Sibert Cather_ 46 - - It’s little that I’d care for the glories of Ireland. - _Edward J. O’Brien_ 16 - - - Lest I learn, with clearer sight. - _Witter Bynner_ 18 - - Lo--to the battle-ground of Life. - _Louis Untermeyer_ 9 - - Love you not the tall trees spreading wide their branches. - _Tertius van Dyke_ 8 - - - May is building her house. With apple blooms. - _Richard Le Gallienne_ 3 - - Midnight, and in the darkness not a sound. - _Sara Teasdale_ 13 - - - O blest Imagination. - _George Edward Woodberry_ 28 - - Oh, joy that burns in Denver tavern. - _Francis Hill_ 49 - - Old Hezekiah leaned hard on his hoe. - _Percy MacKaye_ 30 - - One whom I loved and never can forget. - _Hermann Hagedorn_ 23 - - Outside hove Shasta, snowy height on height. - _Witter Bynner_ 38 - - Over the dim edge of sleep I lean. - _Robert Alden Sanborn_ 9 - - Over the wintry threshold. - _Bliss Carman_ 2 - - - Proud men. - _Nicholas Vachel Lindsay_ 39 - - - Sicilian Muse! O thou who sittest dumb. - _Louis V. Ledoux_ 57 - - Sorrow, quit me for a while. - _Florence Earle Coates_ 20 - - - The moon’s ashine; by many a lane. - _Richard Burton_ 62 - - The sickle is dulled of the reaping and the threshing-floor - is bare. - _Shaemas OSheel_ 43 - - The snug little room with its brazier fire aglow. - _William Rose Benét_ 34 - - The twilight is starred. - _John Hall Wheelock_ 20 - - The Wind bows down the poplar trees. - _Fannie Stearns Davis_ 5 - - They call you cold New England. - _Marguerite Mooers Marshall_ 27 - - War shook the land where Levi dwelt. - _Edwin Arlington Robinson_ 48 - - Weave the dance, and raise again the sacred chorus. - _Louis V. Ledoux_ 1 - - Weighed down by grief, o’erborne by deep despair. - _Richard Burton_ 23 - - What of the night? - _Willard Huntington Wright_ 55 - - With rod and line I took my way. - _Madison Cawein_ 5 - - - - -Transcriber’s Notes - - -Punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling variations were were not changed. - -Simple typographical errors were corrected. - -Poems are shown here as they appeared in the original book. Some of -them appear elsewhere with different words or punctuation. - -When it was not clear whether or not new stanzas began on new pages, -Transcriber did not add stanza breaks. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Anthology of Magazine Verse for 1913, by -William Stanley Braithwaite - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ANTHOLOGY OF MAGAZINE VERSE 1913 *** - -***** This file should be named 63265-0.txt or 63265-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/3/2/6/63265/ - -Produced by hekula03, Charlie Howard, and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This -book was produced from images made available by the -HathiTrust Digital Library.) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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