ANTHOLOGY
OF
MAGAZINE VERSE
FOR 1920 : AND YEAR BOOK OF AMERICAN POETRY
OF
MAGAZINE VERSE
FOR 1920 : AND YEAR BOOK OF AMERICAN POETRY
BOSTON
SMALL, MAYNARD & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
SMALL, MAYNARD & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
TO
MY FRIEND
ANDREW McCANCE
WHO KEEPS BOOKS OLD AND
NEW
PERIODICALS FOREIGN AND DOMESTIC
AT 2 PARK STREET, BOSTON
GENIAL,
WISE AND WITTY
AND BELOVED BY A
GENERATION OF LITERARY FOLK
AND
OTHERS
AS A TELLER OF GOOD STORIES
CONTENTS
- INTRODUCTION
ix
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
xiii
- ANTHOLOGY OF POEMS
1
- THE YEARBOOK OF AMERICAN POETRY
123
- INDEX OF POETS AND POEMS PUBLISHED IN AMERICAN MAGAZINES, AUGUST,
1919—JULY, 1920
125
- ARTICLES AND REVIEWS OF POETS AND POETRY PUBLISHED DURING 1919—1920
161
- VOLUMES OF POEMS PUBLISHED DURING 1919—1920
169
- A SELECT LIST OF BOOKS ABOUT POETS AND POETRY
175
- INDEX OF POETS AND POEMS PUBLISHED IN AMERICAN MAGAZINES, AUGUST,
1919—JULY, 1920
- INDEX OF FIRST LINES
177
TAP-ROOT OR MELTING-POT?*
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Recent American poetry is to recent British poetry somewhat as New York is to London. Its colors are higher and gayer and more diverse; its outlines are more jagged and more surprising; its surfaces glitter and flash as British poetical surfaces do not always do, though its substances are often not so solid or so downright as the British. Nowhere in America have we a poet of the deep integrity of Thomas Hardy, a poet so rooted in ancient soil, ancient manners, ancient dialect. Nor has England a poet shining from so many facets as Amy Lowell, or a poet resounding with such a clang of cymbals—now gold, now ironéas Vachel Lindsay. Experiment thrives better here than there; at least, our adventurers in verse, when they go out on novel quests for novel beauties, are less likely than the British to be held in by steadying tradition, and they bring back all sorts of gorgeous plunder considerably nearer in hue and texture to the flaming shop-windows of Fifth Avenue than to those soberer ones of Bond and Regent Streets. Even John Masefield, most brilliant living poet of his nation, runs true to British-form, grounded in Chaucer and Crabbe, fragrant with English meadows, salt with England's sea. Edgar Lee Masters, as accurately read in Illinois as Masefield in Gloucester writes of Spoon River not in any manner or measure inherited
with his speech, but more nearly in that of the Greek Anthology, by Masters sharpened with a bitter irony.In all directions such borrowings extend. Even popular verse men of the newspapers play daily pranks with Horace, fetching him from the cool shades of wit to the riotous companionship of Franklin P. Adams and George M. Cohan. China and Japan have suddenly been discovered again by Miss Lowell and Mr. Lindsay and Witter Bynner and Eunice Tietjens and a dozen others; have been discovered to be rich treasuries of exquisite images, costumes, gestures, moods, emotions. The corners of Europe have been ransacked by American poets as by American collectors, and translators at last are finding South America. Imagism has been imported and has taken kindly to our climate H. D. is its finest spirit, Miss Lowell its firmest spokesman. Ezra Pound is a translator-general of poetic bibelots, who seems to know all tongues and who ransacks them without stint or limit. With exploration goes excavation. Poets are cross-examining the immigrants, as T. A. Daly the Italian-Americans. The myths and passions of Africa, hidden on this continent under three centuries of neglect and oppression, have emerged with a new accent in Mr. Lindsay, who does indeed see his negroes too close to their original jungles, but who finds in them poetry where earlier writers found only farce or sentiment. Still more remarkably, the Indian, his voice long drowned by the march of civilization, is heard again in tender and significant notes. Speaking so solely to his own tribe, and taking for granted that each hearer knows the lore of the tribe, the Indian must now be expanded, interpreted; and already Mary Austin and Alice Corbin and Constance Lindsay Skinner have worked charming patterns on an Indian ground. At the moment, so far as American poetry is concerned, Arizona and
New Mexico are an authentic wonderland of the nation. Now poets and lovers of poetry and romance, as well as ethnologists, follow the news of the actual excavations in that quarter,Indian and negro materials, however, are in our poetry still hardly better than aspects of the exotic. No one who matters actually thinks that a national literature can be founded on such alien bases. Where, then, are our poets to find some such stout tap-root of memory and knowledge as Thomas Hardy follows deep down to the primal rock of England? The answer is that for the present we are not to find it. We possess no such commodity. Our literature for generations, perhaps centuries, will have to be symbolized by the melting pot, not by the tap-root. Our geographical is also our spiritual destiny. The old idea of America-making in its absurd ignorance demanded that each wave of newcomers be straightway melted down into the national pot and that the resultant mass be as simply Anglo-Saxon as ever. This was bad chemistry. What has happened, and what is now happening more than ever, is that of a dozen— a hundred—nationalities thrown in, each lends a peculiar color and quality. Arturo Giovannitti gives something that Robert Frost could not give; Carl Sandburg somethink not to be looked for from Edwin Arlington Robinson; James Oppenheim and Alter Brody what would not come from Indiana or Kansas. Such a fusion, of course, takes a long time. The great myths and legends and histories of the Britons lay unworked for centuries in Anglo-Saxon England before the Normans saw them and built them into beauty. Eventually, unless the world changes in some way quite new to history, the fusion will be accomplished. But in the meantime experimentation and exploration and excavation must be kept up. We must convert our necessities into virtues; must, lacking the deep soil of memory,
which is also prejudice and tradition, cultivate the thinner soil which may also be reason and cheerfulness. Our hope lies in diversity, in variety, in colors yet untried, in forms yet unsuspected. And back of all this search lie the many cultures, converging like immigrant ships toward the narrows, with aspirations all to become American and yet with those things in their different constitutions which will enrich the ultimate substance.ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
To the American poets and to the editors and proprietors of the magazines from which I have selected the poems included in the Anthology, I wish to express my obligation for the courteous permissions given to make use of copyright material in the preparation of this volume.
I wish, also, to thank the Boston Transcript Company for permission to use material which appeared in my annual review of American poetry in the columns of The Evening Transcript, and to The Nation Press, Inc., for permission to reprint the editorial which stands as the introduction to this volume.
To the following publishers I am indebted for the privilege of using the poems named from the volumes in which they have been included, and which have been published before the appearance of this Anthology:
The Macmillan Company: "The Wandering Jew," "Tact," and "Inferential," in The Three Taverns, by Edwin Arlington. Robinson; "To Other Marys," in Youth Riding: Lyrics, by Mary Carolyn Davies; "I Thought of You," "Oh Day of Fire and Sun," "When Death is Over," "The Long Hill," "What Do I Care," in Flame and Shadow by Sara Teasdale.
Henry Holt and Company: "Little Caribou Makes Big Talk," in Many Many Moons, by Lew Sarett.
Charles Scribner's Sons: "Storm and Sun," in Dust and Light, by John Hall Wheelock.
E. P. Dutton and Company: "A Nature Lover Passes," in A Minstrel Sings, by Daniel Henderson.
The Yale University Press: "The House at Evening," and "Her Way," in The Perpetual Light, by William Rose Benet; "Farmers," in In April Once, by William Alexander Percy.
Small, Maynard and Company: "Maximilian Marvelous," and "Transformation," in Veils of Samite by J. Corson Miller; "April," in.
Harcourt, Brace and Howe, Inc. "The Lawyers Know Too Much," "Accomplished Facts" and "Tangibles," in The City of Smoke, by Carl Sandburg; "Rebels" and "Auction: Anderson Galleries," in The New Adam by Louis Untermeyer.
Brentano's: "You Talk of This and That" and "He Did Not Know," in Chanties and Songs by Harry Kemp.
B. W. Huebsch: "Exile," "Gesture" and "Resemblance," in The Hesitant Heart, by Winifred Welles.
Nicholas L. Brown: "Dorothy," in The Blood of. Things: A Second Book of Free Forms, by Alfred Kreymborg.
Alfred A. Knopf: "Sonnet" and "Ending",in "Advice and Other Poems" by Maxwell Bodenheim.
THE BLACK ROCK
To Thomas Hardy
I
Off the long headland, threshed about by round-backed
breakers,
There is a black rock, standing high at the full
tide;
Off the headland there is emptiness,
And the moaning of the ocean,
And the black rock standing alone.
In the orange wake of sunset,
When the gulls have fallen silent,
And the winds slip out and meet together from the edges of
the sea,
Settled down in the dark water,
Fragment of the earth abandoned,
Ragged and huge the black rock stands.
It is as if it listened,
Stood and listened very intently
To the everlasting swish and boom and hiss of
spray,
Listened to the creeping-on of night;
While afar off, to the westward,
Dark clouds silently are packed together,
With a dull red glow between.
It is listening, it is lonely;
For the sunlight
Showed it houses near the headland,
Trees and flowers;
For the sunlight caused to grow upon it scanty blades of
grass,
For the crannies of the rock,
Here and there;
For the sunlight brought it back remembrance of a
world.
Long rejected
And long lost;
Showed it white sails near the coast,
Children paddling in the bay,
Signs of life and kinship with mankind
Long forgot.
Now the sunset leaves it there,
Bare, rejected, a black scrap of rock,
Battered by the tides,
Wallowing in the sea.
Bleak, adrift,
Shattered like a monstrous ship of stone,
Left aground
By the waters, on its voyage;
With no foot to touch its deck,
With no hand to lift its sails,
There it stands.
II
Gulls wheel near it in the sunlight,
White backs flash;
Gray wings eddy, curl, are lifted, swept away,
On a wave;
Gulls pass rapidly in the sunlight
Round about it.
Gulls pass, screaming harshly to the wave-thrusts,
Laughing in uncanny voices;
Lonely flocks of great white birds,
Like to ghosts;
But the black rock does not welcome them,
Knows by heart already all their cries;
Hears, repeated, for the millionth millionth time
All the bitterness of ocean
Howling through their voices.
It still dreams of other things,
Of the cities and the fields,
And the lands near to the coast
Where the lonely grassy valleys
Full of dun herds deeply browsing,
Sweep in wide curves to the sea;
It still holds the memory
Of the wild bees booming, murmuring,
In the fields of thyme and clover,
And the shadows of broad trees
Towards noon:
It still lifts its huge scarred sides
Vainly to the burning glare of sun,
With the memory of doom
Thick upon them;
And the hope that by some fate
It may come once more to be
Part of all the earth it had;
Freed from clamor of the waves,
From the broken planks and wreckage
Drifting aimless here and there,
With the tides;
Freed to share its life with earth,
And to be a dwelling-place
For the outcast tribes of men,
Once again.
III
In the morning,
When the dark clouds whirl swift over,
From the southeast, dragging with them
Heavy curtains of gray rain,
The black rock rejoices.
All its little gullies drip with cool refreshing
showers.
All the crannies, all the steeps,
All the meagre sheltered places
Fill with drip and tinkle of the rain.
But when the afternoon between the clouds
Leaves adrift cool patches of the sea,
Between floes of polar snow;
Then the rock is all aflame;
Diamond, emeralds, topazes,
Burn and shatter, and it seems
Like a garden filled with flowers.
Like a garden where the rapid wheeling lights
And black shadows lift and sway and fall;
Spring and summer and red autumn chase each other
Moment after moment, on its face,
So, till sunset
Lifts once more its lonely crimson torch,
Menacing and mournful, far away;
Then an altar left abandoned, it stands facing all the
horizon
Where the light departs.
Massive black and crimson towers,
Cities carven by the wind from out the clouds of sunset
look at it;
It has dreamed them, it has made this sacrifice,
Now it sees their rapid passing,
Soon it will be bleak and all alone.
IV
Abrupt and broken rock,
Black rock, awash in the midst of the waters,
Lonely, aloof, deserted,
Impotent to change;
Storm-clouds lift off,
The dawn strikes the hills far inland.
But you are forever tragic and apart,
Forever battling with the sea;
Till the waves have ground you to dust —
Till the ages are all accomplished,
Till you have relinquished the last reluctant
fragment
To the gnawing teeth of the wave;
I know the force of your patience,
I have shared your grim silent struggle,
The mad dream you have, and will not abandon,
To cover your strength with gay flowers;
Keel of the world, apart,
I have lived like you.
Some men are soil of the earth;
Their lives are broad harvest fields
Green in the spring, and gold in their season,
Then barren and mown;
But those whom my soul has loved
Are bare rocks standing off headlands;
Cherishing, perhaps, a few bitter wild flowers,
That bloom in the granite, year after
year.
The Yale Review John Gould Fletcher
THE APPLES
— The world is wasted with fire and sword
But the apples of gold hang over the sea.—
When the wounded seaman heard the ocean daughters
With their dreamy call
Lull the stormy demon of the waters,
He remembered all.
He remembered knowing of an island charted,
"Past a flying fire,"
Where a fruit was growing, winey-hearted,
Called "the mind's desire."
Near him broke the stealing rollers into jewels
Round a tree, and there
Sorrow's end and healing, peace, renewals
Ripened in the air.
So he knew he'd found it and he watched the glory
Burning on the tree
With the dancers round it — like the story —
In the swinging sea.
Lovely round the honey-colored fruit, the motion
Made a leafy stir.
Songs were in that sunny tree of ocean
Where the apples were.
First the ocean sung them, then the daughters
after,
Dancing to the word.
Beauty danced among them with low laughter
And the harp was heard.
In that sea's immeasurable music sounded
Songs of peace, and still
From the bough the treasure hung down rounded
To the seaman's will.
Redder than the jewel-seeded beach and sharper
Were the wounds he bore,
Hearing, past the cruel dark, a harper
Lulling on the shore.
Long he watched the wonders, ringed with lovely
perils,
Watched the apples gleam
In the sleepy thunders on the beryls,
Then he breathed his dream:
"Bloody lands and flaming seas and cloudy
slaughter,
Hateful fogs unfurled,
Steely horror, shaming sky and water,
These have wreathed the world.
"Give me fruit for freighting, till my anchor
grapples
Home beyond the vast.
Earth shall end her hating through the apples
And be healed at last."'
Then the sea-girls, lifting up their lovely voices
With the secret word,
Sang it through the drifting ocean noises
And the sailor heard;
Ocean-old the answers reached his failing sinew,
Touched, unveiled his eyes;
Beach and bough and dancers are within you,
There the island lies.
'Though the heavens harden, though the thunders
hover,
Though our song be mute,
Burning in our garden for the lover
Still unfolds the fruit."
Outward from that shore the happy sailor, turning,
Passed the fleets of sleep,
Passed his pain and bore the secret, burning,
Homeward to the deep.
The Nation Ridgely Torrence
INVOCATION
Make of my voice a blue-edged Sword, Oh, Lord!
Srengthen my soul to deliver your war-cry,
Make of my voice a blue-edged sword, Oh,
Lord!
Out of my frailness fashion a piercing reed,
Out of my pity a great battle ax,
Out of my frailness fashion a piercing reed!
I have had a vision and I cannot sleep,
A vision consumes me and tears me apart,
I have had a vision and I cannot sleep.
Oh body of mine, make of yourself a stronghold,
Gird yourself in the steel of your vision,
Oh body of mine, make of yourself a
stronghold!
Make of my breath an infinite prophecy, Oh, Lord!
Make of my song a summons to prayer,
Make of my breath an infinite prophecy, Oh,
Lord!
A vision consumes me and I am its slave and its
lover,
Make of my spirit a song so that I may announce
it!
A vision consumes me and I am its slave and its
lover.
Contemporary VerseMarya Alexandrovna Zaturensky
BEAUTY
... and The Good, which lies beyond is the Fountain at once
and Principle of Beauty: the Primal Good and the Primal Beauty have the one
dwelling-place and, thus, always, Beauty's seat is There. —PLOTINUS.
The sun shines bright in many places,
Beauty stoops into the vault;
One Light illumines many faces,
Shows perfection through the fault.
And every mountain, sky or river
Holds one heavenly reply
To my questions, from the Giver
Of the Gift that cannot die.
Yet I destroy my purest pleasure
While I hesitate, compare.
God is the undivided Treasure...
Timeless Beauty is my share.
The Catholic WorldArmel O'Connor
CONFESSIONAL
I do not kneel at night, to say a prayer;
I think of spiders and I do not dare!
My knees are thin, and easily they could
Gather a splinter, roughened from the
wood.
I'm cold, and bed is warm; I'm better there,
Than in the outer darkness of a prayer!
But when the morning wakes up, pink and cool,
And sunrise makes our peach-blooms
glory-full;
And God comes smiling down the garden-walk,
I run and slip my hand in His, and talk!
I tell Him that I am a naughty lamb;
He laughs and says He made me as I
am!
Contemporary VerseKatharine McCluskey
THE DANCER IN THE SHRINE
I am a dancer. When I pray
I do not gather thoughts with clumsy thread
Into poor phrases. Birds all have a way
Of singing home the truth that they are birds,
And so' my loving litany is said
Without the aid of words.
I am a dancer. Under me
The floor dreams lapis lazuli,
With inlaid gems of every hue —
Mother o' pearl I tread like dew,
While at the window of her frame
Our Lady, of the hallowed name,
Leans on the sill. Gray saints glare down,
Too long by godliness entranced,
With piety of painted frown,
Who never danced —
But Oh, Our Lady's quaint, arrested look
Remembers when she danced with bird and brook,
Of wind and flower and innocence a part,
Before the rose of Jesus kissed her heart
And men heaped heavy prayers upon her breast.
She watches me with gladness half confessed
Who dare to gesture homage with my feet,
Or twinkle lacy steps of joy
To entertain the Holy Boy;
Who, laughing, pirouette and pass,
Translated by the colored glass,
To meanings infinitely sweet.
And though it is not much, I know,
To fan the incense to and fro
With skirt as flighty as a wing,
It seems Our Lady understands
The method of my worshipping,
The hymns I'm lifting in my hands —
I am a dancer—
Contemporary Verse Amanda Benjamin Hall
THE PRODIGAL
God has such a splendid way
Of launching his unchallenged yea:
Of giving sphery grapes their sheen;
Of painting trees and grasses green;
Of crooning April rains that we
May wash us in simplicity;
Of swinging little smiling moons
Beyond the reach of noisy noons;
Of storing in the honey bee
The whole of life's epitome.
God has such a splendid way
Of tempting beauty out of clay,
And from the scattered dusts that sleep
Summoning men who laugh and weep;
And, by and by, of letting death
Draw into space our thread of
breath.
Poetry, A. Magazine of VerseLouise Ayres Garnett
SECOND GROWTH
Men know that the birch-tree always
Will grow where they cut down the pine
—
This is the way of the forest,
And the same way shall be
mine.
For now that my sorrow lies stricken,
And shadow in me is done,
I, too, shall have years of laughter,
And of dancing in the sun.
Harper's MagazineWinifred Welles
SUDDENLY
Suddenly flickered a flame,
Suddenly fluttered a wing:
What, can a dead bird sing?
Somebody spoke your name.
Suddenly fluttered a wing,
Sounded a voice, the same,
Somebody spoke your name:
Oh, the remembering!
Sounded a voice, the same,
Song of the heart's green spring,
Oh, the remembering:
Which of us was to blame?
Song of the heart's green spring,
Wings that still flutter, lame,
Which of us was to blame? —
God, the slow withering!
The Century MagazineLeonora Speyer
FULL-CIRCLE
Now that the gods are gone,
And the kings, the gods' shadows, are
gone,
Man is alone on the earth,
Thrust out with the suns,
alone.
Silent he walks among
The unanswering stars of his night,
Knowing his hands are weak, that his eyes
Deceive in the light.
]Knowing there is no guerdon to win
But the dark and his measure of
mould,
Foreseeing the end of dream, foreseeing
Youth grow old.
Yet, knowing despair he is free,
Free of bonds, of faith, of pain.
What should frighten him now
Who has nothing to gain,
When he takes the place of the gods,
And chaos is his and the years,
And the thunderous histories of worlds
Throb loud for his ears?
Now that the gods are gone
The skies are dust in his hands;
Through his fingers they slip like dust
Blown across waste lands;
And his glance takes in beauty and grief
And the centuries coming or flown:
He is god of all ways and things —
And a fool — and alone.
The New RepublicMaxwell Anderson
SONG
If I could sing the song of the dawn,
The carolling word of leaf or bird,
And the sun-waked fern uncurling there
I would go lonely and would not care!
If I could sing the song of the dusk,
The stars and moon of glistening June
Lit at the foot and the head of me,
The Spinner might break the thread of me!
If I could sing but the song of love,
Fill my throat with each sounding note,
Others might kiss and clasp and cling,
Mine be the lips that would sing — would
sing!
The Smart SetLeonora Speyer
I COME SINGING
I come singing the keen sweet smell of grass
Cut after rain,
And the cool ripple of drops that pass
Over the grain,
And the drenched light drifting across the
plain.
I come chanting the mad bloom of the fall.
And the swallows
Rallying in clans to the rapid call
From the hollows,
And the wet west wind swooping down on the
swallows.
I come shrilling the sharp white of December,
The night like. quick steel
Swung by a gust in its plunge through the pallid
ember
Of dusk, and the heel
Of the fierce green dark grinding the stars like
steel.
The New Republic Jacob Auslander
THE LOON
A lonely lake, a lonely shore,
A lone pine leaning on the moon;
All night the water-beating wings
Of a solitary loon.
With mournful wail from dusk to dawn
He gibbered at the taunting stars, —
A hermit-soul gone raving mad,
And beating at his bars.
American Forestry Lew Sarett
SPRING COWARDICE
I am afraid to go into the woods,
I fear the trees and their mad, green
moods.
I fear the breezes that pull at my sleeves,
The creeping arbutus beneath the leaves,
And the brook that mocks me with wild, wet words:
I stumble and fall at the voice of birds.
Think of the terror of those swift showers,
Think of the meadows of fierce-eyed
flowers:
And the little things with sudden wings
That buzz about me and dash and dart,
And the lilac waiting to break my heart!
Winter, hide me in your kind snow,
I am a coward, a coward, I
know!
Contemporary VerseLeonora Speyer
SENTINELS
Oh line of trees all dark and green
Like stately sentinels you stand —
God's mystery to the world you bring,
God's presence to the land!
So straight and free,
So still and dark,
God's sentinels you stand.
Your leafiness makes one forget
The wrath of His invisible Hand.
But lacy leaves mean sturdy bark,
So sure you point the mark —
Big exclamations to God's throne,
Your trembling leaves cry "Hark!"
Rose Parkewood
MY FLOWER
One night in May in a clear sky
The moon was a daisy flower:
And! put it in my coat,
A bouquet of Love!
Now I shall wear it
When I go
Along the city streets:
The people will say
As I pass by —
"He has a sweet soul!"
They will not see my flower,
And cannot know
Whence comes the fragrance of my
spirit!
The WayfarerIra Titus
TREES NEED NOT WALK THE EARTH
Trees need not walk the earth
For beauty or for bread;
Beauty will come to them
Where they stand.
Here among the children of the sap
Is no pride of ancestry:
A birch may wear no less the morning
Than an oak.
Here are no heirlooms
Save those of loveliness,
In which each tree
Is kingly in its heritage of grace.
Here is but beauty's wisdom
In which all trees are wise.
Trees need not walk the earth
For beauty or for bread;
Beauty will come to them
In the rainbow —
The sunlight —
And the lilac-haunted rain;
And bread will come to them
As beauty came:
In the rainbow —
In the sunlight —
In the rain.
The Nation David Rosenthal
SUGARING
A man may think wild things under the moon —
In March when there is a tapping in the pails
Hung breast-high on the maples. Though you sink
To boot-tops only in the uncrusted snow,
And feel last autumn's leaves a short foot
down,
There will be one among the men you meet
To say the snow lies six feet level there.
"Not here!" you say; and he says, "In the woods" —
Implying woods that he knows where to find.
Well, such a moon may be miraculous,
And if it has the power to make one man
Believe a common February snow
The great storm-wonder he would talk about
For years if once he saw it, there may be
In the same shimmering sickle over the hill
Vision of other things for other
men.
The moon again
Playing tonight with vapors that go up
And out into the silver. The brown sap works
Its foamy bulk over the great log fire.
Colors of flame light up a man, who kneels
With sticks upon his arm, and in his face
A grimace of resistance to the glow.
All that is burning is not under here
Boiling the early sap — I wonder why.
It is as calm as a dream of paradise
Out there among the trees, where runnels make
The only music heard above the sway
Of branches fingering the leaning moon.
And yet a man must go, when the sap has thickened,
Up and away to sleep a tired sleep,
And dream of dripping from a rotting roof
Back into sap that once was rid of him.
I wonder why, I wonder why, I
wonder...
Close the iron doors and let the fire die,
And the faint night-wind blow through the broken
walls.
The sugar thickens, and the moon is gone,
And frost threads up the singing rivulets.
I am going up the mountain toward the stars,
But I should like to lie near earth tonight—
Earth that has borne the furious grip of
winter
And given a kind of birth to beauty at last.
Look! —-the old breath thrills through her once
again
And there will be passion soon, shaking her veins
And driving her spirit upward till the buds
Burst overhead, and swallows find the eaves
Of the sugar-house untroubled by the talk
Of men gone off with teams to mend the roads.
I think I shall throw myself down here in the snow
So to be very near her when she
stirs.
Poetry, A Magazine of VerseRaymond Holden
FLOWERS
Not all flowers have souls,
But roses, for they are memories of lovers,
And lilies, their prayers,
Azaleas; who give themselves to the winds,
And irises, beloved of Pindar,
And the pale œnothera,
Incandescent in the twilight,
And many sweet and simple flowers —
Snowdrops and violets,
White and delicately veined —
And all shadowy wind-flowers.
But not tree blossoms,
Which are the breath of Spring,
Nor poppies, splendid and secret,
And sprung from drops of Persian blood,
Nor water-lilies, who have but their dreams,
And float, little worlds of scent and color,
Wrapt in their golden atmosphere.,
The DialFlorence Taber Holt
THE GATE
The dust is thick along the road;
The fields are scorching in the sun;
My wife has ever a bitter word
To greet me when the day is
done.
The neighbors rest beside the gate
But half their words are high and
shrill.
My son is over-young to help;
The fields are very hard to till.
But in the dusk I raise my eyes —
The poet's words come back to me:
"In the moon there is a white jade gate
Shadowed cool by a cassia
tree."
Poetry, A Magazine of VerseElizabeth J. Coatsworth
THE GARDEN
Two of Thy children one summer day worked in their
garden, Lord;
They chopped the weeds of yesterday and you sent down a
golden smile.
Two of Thy children one sunny day worked in their
garden, Lord,
They hoed the furrow straight for the earthy bed and you
whispered a singing smile.
Two of Thy children one windy day worked in their
garden, Lord;
They pressed out the lumps from the clayey soil and you
closed your shining eyes;
Two of Thy children one cloudy day worked in their
garden, Lord,
They dropped in the seeds with a song in their hearts
and you sent a soothing tear.
Two of Thy children one rainy day turned from their
garden, Lord —
Your Smile and your Sigh and your Tear entered into
their hearts.
Two of Thy children, all the days of
their life will work in Thy garden, Lord!
Rose Parkewood
THE GARDEN WALL
The Roman wall was not more grave than this,
That has no league at all with great
affairs,
That knows no ruder hands than clematis,
No louder blasts than blowing April
airs.
Yet, with a gray solemnity it broods,
Above the walk where simple folk go
past,
And in its crannies keeps their transient moods,
Holding their careless words unto the
last.
The rains of summer, and the creeping vine
That season after season clings in
trust,
And shivered poppies red as Roman wine, —
These things at last will haunt its
crumbled dust —
Not dreams of empires shattered where they lie,
But children's laughter, birds, and bits
of sky.
The BookmanDavid Morton
THE SOUVENIR
Of finest porcelain and of choicest dye,
This bit of egg shell from a robin's nest;
I thought at first I'd found upon earth's breast
A chip from that blue bowl we call the
sky!
Contemporary VerseAntoinette De Coursey Patterson
APRIL
Even when all my body sleeps,
I shall remember yet
The wistfulness that April keeps,
When boughs at dusk are wet.
The haunted twilight on the lane;
The far-off cricket's croon;
And beautiful and washed by rain,
The mellow rounded moon!
So, underneath the waving grass,
And underneath the dew,
April, whenever you will pass,
My dust will dream of
you!
The ArgosyLouis Ginsberg
THE LOCUST
Your hot voice sizzles from some cool tree near
by:
You seem to burn your way through the air
Like a small, pointed flame of sound
Sharpened on the ecstatic edge of
sunbeams!
THE SQUALL
If swoops gray-winged across the obliterated
hills,
And the startled lake seems to run before it:
From the woods comes a clamor of leaves,
Tugging at the twigs,
Pouring from the branches,,
And suddenly the birds are still.
Thunder crumples the sky,
Lightning tears at it.
And now the rain!
The rain — thudding — implacable —
The wind, revelling in the confusion of great
pines!
And a silver sifting of light,
A coolness:
A sense of summer anger passing,
Of summer gentleness creeping nearer —
Penitent —tearful —
Forgiven!
CRICKETS AT DAWN
All night the crickets chirp,
Like little stars of twinkling sound
In the dark silence.
They sparkle through the summer stillness
With a crisp rhythm:
They lift the shadows on their tiny
voices.
But at the shining note of birds that wake,
Flashing from tree to tree till all the wood is lit
—
O golden coloratura of dawn!—
The cricket-stars fade slowly,
One by one.
Poetry, A Magazine of VerseLeonora Speyer
THE CONFIDANT
The wood is talking in its sleep. —
Have a care, trees!
You are heard by the brook and the breeze
And the listening lake;
And some of the birds are awake,
I know —
Green, garrulous wood; I trusted you
so!
Contemporary VerseLeonora Speyer
REBELS
Stiff in midsummer green, the stolid hillsides
March with their trees, dependable and
stanch,
Except where here and there a lawless maple
Thrusts to the sky one red, rebellious
branch.
You see them standing out, these frank insurgents,
With that defiant and arresting
plume;
Scattered, they toss this flame like some wild
signal,
Calling their comrades to a brilliant
doom.
What can it mean — this strange, untimely
challenge;
This proclamation of an early death?
Are they so tired of earth they fly the banner
Of dissolution and a bleeding
faith?
Or is it, rather than a brief defiance,
An anxious welcome to a vivid
strife?
A glow, a heart-beat, and a bright acceptance
Of all the rich exuberance of
life.
Rebellious or resigned, they flaunt their color,
A sudden torch, a burning
battle-cry.
"Light up the world," they wave to all the others;
"Swiftly we live and splendidly we
die."
Harper's MagazineLouis Untermeyer
FARMERS
I watch the farmers in their fields
And marvel secretly.
They are so very calm and sure,
They have such dignity.
They know such simple things so well,
Although their learning's small,
They find a steady, brown content
Where some find none at all.
And all their quarrelings with God
Are soon made up again;
They grant forgiveness when He sends
His silver, tardy rain.
Their pleasure is so grave and full
When gathered crops are trim,
You know they think their work was done
In partnership with Him.
Then, why, when there are fields to buy,
And little fields to rent,
Do I still love so foolishly
Wisdom and
discontent?
Contemporary VerseWilliam Alexander Percy
GREEN GOLDEN DOOR
Green golden door, swing in, swing in!
Fanning the life a man must live,
Echoes and airs and minstrelsies,
Love and hope that he called his,
Fear and hurt and a man's own sin
Casting them forth and sucking them
in,
Green golden door, swing out, swing out!
Green golden door, swing in, swing in!
Show me the youth that will not die,
Tell me the dream that has not
waked,
Seek me the heart that never ached,
Speak me the truth men will not
doubt!
Green golden door, swing out, swing out!
Green golden door, swing in, swing out!
Long is the wailing of man's breath,
Short is the wail of
death.
The New RepublicJeannette Marks
WHAT DO I CARE
What do I care, in the dreams and the languor of
spring,
That my songs do not show me at all?
For they are a fragrance, and I am a flint and a
fire;
I am an answer, they are only a
call.
What do I care — for love will be over so soon —
Let my heart have its say, and my mind stand idly
by.
For my mind is proud, and strong enough to be
silent—
It is my heart that makes my songs, not
I.
Poetry, A Magazine of VerseSara Teasdale
TRANSFORMATION
Love, we have dipped Life's humble bread
Into the stars' flame-bubbling
springs;
We've knelt before the Moon's white face,
While around us whirred Night's purple
wings.
Love, we have trod the floors of Morn,
And watched Dawn's reeling galleons
die;
The sunset's panoramic hills —
Love, we have known them, you and
I.
Upon the battlements of Time
We stood and heard Life's thunders
roar:
A million ticking years that swelled
The crashing notes of millions
more.
Our hearts have germinated sweet
To beauty through each golden hour;
But now the bloom-time days are past,
The stalk is fading with the
flower.
And we shall seek earth's simple things:
A roof-tree small, a green-thatched fire
—
Come, Love, and lay your cherished dreams
Beneath the touch of my
desire.
We could not climb the Infinite,
The jagged heights were steep and
long;
For us child-wistfulness and sleep —
Old twilight memories and
song.
Love, is it here that we shall wend,
Down homelit paths, grown gently
wise?
Perhaps your eyes, made glad of earth,
Shall find the Key to
Paradise.
New York TimesJ. Corson Miller
GAVOTTE IN D MINOR
She wore purple, and when other people slept
She stept lightly — lightly — in her ruby powdered
slippers
Along the flags of the East portico.
And the moon slowly rifting the heights of cloud
Touched her face so that she bowed
Her head, and held her hand to her eyes
To keep the white shining from her. And she was
wise,
For gazing at the moon was like looking on her own dead
face
Passing alone in a wide place,
Chill and uncosseted, always above
The hot protuberance of life. Love to her
Was morning and a great stir
Of trumpets and tire-women and sharp sun.
As she had begun, so she would end,
Walking alone to the last bend
Where the portico turned the wall.
And her slipper's sound
Was scarce as loud upon the ground
As her tear's fall.
Her long white fingers crisped and clung
Each to each, and her weary tongue
Rattled always the same cold speech:
"Gold was not made to lie in grass,
Silver dints at the touch of brass,
The days pass."
Lightly, softly, wearily,
The lady paces, drearily
Listening to the half-shrill croon
Leaves make on a moony Autumn night
When the windy light
Runs over the ivy eerily.
A branch at the corner cocks an obscene eye
As she passes — passes — by and by —
A hand stretches out from a column's edge,
Faces float in a phosphorent wedge
Through the points of arches, and there is speech
In the caryen roof-groins out of reach.
A love-word, a lust-word, shivers and mocks
The placid stroke of the village clocks.
Does the lady hear?
Is any one near?
She jeers at life, must she wed instead
The cold dead?
A marriage-bed of moist green mould.
With an over-head tester of beaten gold.
A splendid price for a splendid scorn,
A tombstone pedigree snarled with thorn
Clouding the letters and the fleur-de-lis,
She will have them in granite for her heart's chill
ease.
I set the candle in a draught of air
And watched it swale to the last thin flare.
They laid her in a fair chamber hung with arras,
And they wept her virgin soul.
The arras was woven of the story of Minos and
Dictynna.
But I grieved that I could no longer hear the shuffle of
her feet along the portico,
And the ruffling of her train against the
stones.
The DialAmy Lowell
I, WHO LAUGHED MY YOUTH AWAY
I, who laughed my youth away
And blew bubbles to the sky,
Thin as air and frail as fire,
Opals, pearls of such desire
As a saint could but admire;
Now as azure as a sigh,
Then with passion all aglow —
Golden, crimson, purple, gray
Moods and moments of a day —
Have been gay,
Yea,
As they,
Sailing high,
Sinking low;
Even so
Pierrot,
Walking Paris in a trance,
With my weary feet in France
And my heart in Bergamo,
Loved — and lost my laughing way.
I, of course, have never
had
Any great amount of gold
Other than my bubbles
hold.
Love? I have no loving
plan
As a guide to beast or
man,
Being neither good nor
bad,
Just a sort of sorry
lad.
Ainslee's Magazine?William Griffith
FRIMAIRE
Dearest, we are like two flowers
Blooming last in a yellowing garden,
A purple aster flower and a red one
Standing alone in a withered desolation.
The garden plants are shattered and seeded,
One brittle leaf scrapes against another,
Fiddling echoes of a rush of petals.
Now only you and I nodding together.
Many were with us; they have all faded.
Only we are purple and crimson,
Only we in the dew-clear mornings,
Smarten into color as the sun rises.
When I scarcely see you in the fiat moonlight,
And later when my cold roots tighten,
I am anxious for the morning,
I cannot rest in fear of what may happen.
You or I —-and I am a coward.
Surely frost should take the crimson.
Purple is a finer color,
Very splendid in isolation.
So we nod above the broken
Stems of flowers almost rotted.
Many mornings there cannot be now
For us both. Ah, Dear, I love
you!
Scribner's MagazineAmy Lowell
A FOREST RENDEZVOUS
They said someone was waiting;
And at the trysting oak
Sudden enchanting voices
Leaf-lightly spoke.
Daylong she had been coming,
And all the forest sang
Of beauty: elfin-softly
The bluebells rang.
Nightlong she was in shadow,
She who went away
As the moon does in the silver
Veils of day.
I see no course to follow,
Alas, nor where to find
The silver way she vanished,
Being blind.
The Smart SetWilliam Griffith
TO HER WHO PASSES
Her footsteps fall in silent sands;
Her hands are cool like growing
leaves;
The fingers of her hovering hands
Touch lightly, pass; and time
bereaves
The benison of her caress
Of peace, or pain, or bitterness.
The kisses of her mouth like dew
Rain gently down; if she has sinned,
That she had sinned she never knew;
Lightly she walks upon the wind,
And like the wind she leaves no trace
Upon the quiet of this place.
Poetry, A Magazine of VerseMaurice Browne
ALONE IN SPRING
I never met the Spring alone before:
The flowers, birds, the loveliness of trees,
For with me always there was one I love —
And love is shield against such gifts as
these.
But now I am alone, alone, alone;
The days and nights one long remembering.
Did other Aprils that we shared possess
The hurting beauty of this living Spring?
I never met the Spring alone before —
My starving grief — this radiance of gold!...
To be alone, when Spring is being born,
One should be dead — or suddenly grown
old.
Contemporary VerseCaroline Giltinan
WREATHS
Red wreaths
Hang in my neighbor's window,
Green wreaths in my own.
On this day I lost my husband.
On this day you lost your boy.
On this day
Christ was born.
Red wreaths,
Green wreaths
Hang in our windows,
Red for a bleeding heart,
Green for grave grass.
Mary, mother of Jesus,
Look down and comfort us.
You too knew passion;
You too knew pain.
Comfort us,
Who are not brides of God,
Nor bore God.
On Christmas day
Hang wreaths,
Green for spent passion,
Red for new pain.
Poetry, A Magazine of VerseCarolyn Hillman
GESTURE
My arms were always quiet,
Close and never freed,
I was furled like a banner,
Enfolded like a seed.
I thought, when Love shall strike me,
Each arm will start and spring,
Unloosen like a petal,
And open like a wing.
Oh Love — my arms are lifted,
But not to sway and toss,
They strain out wide and wounded
Like arms upon a cross.
The North American ReviewWinifred Welles
I CANNOT PUT YOU AWAY
I cannot put you away;
By night and day
You come in a dream and cry,
"It is I! It is I!"
I will rise and turn the lock
Nor heed your knock,
But rest for a night and day
With you away.
And then I will find release
And empty peace,
In silence that will not cry
"It is I! It is I!"
New York Sun Books and the Book WorldHerbert S. Gorman
TACT
Observant of the way she told
So much of what was true,
No vanity could long withhold
Regard that was her due:
She spared him the familiar guile,
So easily achieved,
That only made a man to smile
And left him undeceived.
Aware that all imagining
Of more than what she meant
Would urge an end of everything,
He stayed; and when he went,
They parted with a merry word
That was to him as light
As any that was ever heard
Upon a starry night.
She smiled a little, knowing well
That he would not remark
The ruins of a day that fell
Around her in the dark:
He saw no ruins anywhere,
Nor fancied there were scars
On anyone who lingered there,
Alone below the stars.
The Yale ReviewEdwin Arlington Robinson
SONNET
Like wine grown stale, the street-lamp's pallor
seeks
The wilted anger of her scarlet lips,
And bitter, evanescent finger-tips
Of unsaid questions play upon her cheeks.
She sways a little, and her tired breath,
Fumbling at the crucifix of her mind,
Draws out the aged nails, now dull and kind,
That once were sharp loves hardening in their
death.
And so a dumb joy tips her sudden smiles
At passing men who eye her wonderingly
And hurry on because her face is old.
They merely think her clumsy in her wiles:
They know not that her face is dizzily
At rest because old memories have grown
cold.
The DialMaxwell Bodenheim
DEPARTURE
It's little I care what path I take,
And where it leads it's little!
care,
But out of this house, lest my heart break,
I must go, and off
somewhere!
It's little! know what's in my heart,
What's in my mind it's little! know,
But there's that in me must up and start,
And it's little I care where my feet
go!
I wish I could walk for a day and a night
And find me at dawn in a desolate
place,
With never the rut of a road in sight,
Or the roof of a house, or the eyes of a
face.
I wish I could walk till my blood should spout,
And drop me, never to stir again,
On a shore that is wide, for the tide is out,
And the weedy rocks are bare to the
rain.
But dump or dock, where the path I take
Brings up, it's little enough I
care,
And it's little I'd mind the fuss they'll make,
Huddled dead in a ditch
somewhere.
"Is something the matter, dear," she
said,
"That you sit at your work so
silently?"
"No, mother, no —'twas a knot in my
thread.
There goes the kettle — I'll
make the tea."
Ainslee's MagazineEdna St. Vincent Millay
MY LONELY ONE
Even as a hawk's in the large heaven's hollow
Are the great ways and gracious of your
love,
No lesser heart or wearier wing may follow
In those' broad gyres where you rest and
move.
Most merciless, most high, most proud, most lonely —
In the clear space between the sky and sea
Wheel her huge orbits, where the sea-winds only
Wander the sun-roads of
Immensity.
Yet have I known your heart and of what fashion
Your love, how great, how hardly to be
borne —
Your tenderness, too perfect for compassion,
Your divine strength, too pure and proud
for scorn.
You are most beautiful; though it is given
But few to find you, fewer still to
keep
Your high path through the solitude of heaven,
My lonely one, your watch upon the
Deep.
Now toward the gold glow of the sunset's splendour
Veer your great vans — what haven in the
west
Now draws you —while the mellowing light makes
tender
Your dripping plumes — what islands of the
blest?
Lift me, O lift me up to you forever,
Beautiful Terror! Let your sacred
might
Stoop to me here and save — O let me never
Sink from you now to share a lesser
flight!
Even as I pray my wings of longing fail me,
And my heart flags. In solitude you
move
Down the night's shore: not praying shall avail me
To lift me, fallen from your faultless
love.
The FreemanJohn Hall Wheelock
MERELY STATEMENT
You sent me a sprig of mignonette,
Cool-colored, quiet, and it was wet
With green sea-spray, and the salt and the sweet
Mingled to a fragrance weary and discreet
As a harp played softly in a great room at
sunset.
You said: "My sober mignonette
Will brighten your room and you will not
forget."
But I have pressed your flower and laid it away
In a letter, tied with a ribbon knot.
I have not forgot.
But there is a passion-flower in my vase
Standing above a close-cleared space
In the midst of a jumble of papers and books.
The passion-flower holds my eyes,
And the light-under-light of its blue and purple
dyes
Is a hot surprise.
How then can I keep my looks
From the passion-flower leaning sharply over the
books?
When one has seen
The difficult magnificence of a queen
On one's table,
Is one able
To observe any color in a mignonette?
I will not think of sunset, I crave the dawn,
With its rose-red light on the wings of a swan,
And a queen pacing slowly through the Parthenon,
Her dress a stare of purple between pillars of
stone.
The BookmanAmy Lowell
THE ISLANDS
I
What are the Islands to me,
what is Greece,
what is Rhodes, Samos, Chios,
what is Paros facing west,
what is Crete?
What is Samothrace,
rising like a ship,
what is Imbros redning the storm-waves
with its breast?
What is Naxos, Paros, Milos,
what the circle about Lycia,
what, the Cyclades'
white necklace?
What is Greece —
Sparta, rising like a rock,
Thebes, Athens,
what is Corinth?
What is Euboia
with its island violets,
what is Euboia, spread with grass,
set with swift shoals,
what is Crete?
What are the islands to me,
what is Greece?
II
What can love of land give to me
that you have not —
what do the tall Spartans know,
and gentler Attic folk?
What has Sparta and her women
more than this?
What are the islands to me
if you are lost —
What is Naxos, Tinos, Andros,
and Delos, the clasp
of the white necklace?
III
What can love of land give to me
that you have not,
what can love of strife break in me
that you have not?
Though Sparta enter Athens,
salt, rising to wreak terror
Thebes wrack Sparta,
each changes as water,
and fall back.
IV
"What has love of land given to you
that I have not?"
I have questioned Tyrians
where they sat
on the black ships,
weighted with rich stuffs,
I have asked the Greeks
from the white ships,
and Greeks from ships whose hulks
lay on the wet sand, scarlet
with great beaks.
I have asked bright Tyrians
and tall Greeks —
"what has love of land given you?"
And they answered — "peace."
V
But beauty is set apart,
beauty is cast by the sea,
a barren rock,
beauty is set about
with wrecks of ships,
upon our coasts, death keeps
the shallows — death waits
clutching toward us
from the deeps.
Beauty is set apart;
the winds that slash its beach,
swirl the coarse sand
upward toward the rocks.
Beauty is set apart
from the islands
and from Greece.
VI
In my garden,
the winds have beaten
the ripe lilies;
in my garden, the salt
has wilted the first flakes
of young narcissus,
and the lesser hyacinth
and the salt has crept
under the leaves of the white hyacinth.
In my garden
even the wind-flowers lie fiat,
broken by the wind at last.
VII
What are the islands to me
if you are lost,
what is Paros to me
if your eyes draw back,
what is Milos
if you take fright of beauty,
terrible, torturous, isolated,
a barren rack?
What is Rhodes, Crete,
what is Paros facing west,
what, white Imbros?
What are the islands to me
if you hesitate,
what is Greece if you draw back
from the terror
and cold splendor of song
and its bleak sacrifice?
The North American ReviewMrs. Richard Aidington
SEA SAND
I
JUNE NIGHT
O Earth you are too dear to-night,
How can I sleep, while all around
Floats rainy fragrance and the far
Deep voice of the ocean that talks to the
ground?
O Earth, you gave me all I have,
I love you, I love you, oh what have
I
That I can give you in return —
Except my body after I
die?
II
"I THOUGHT OF YOU"
I thought of you and how you love this beauty,
And walking up the long beach all
alone,
I heard the waves breaking in measured thunder
As you and I once heard their
monotone.
Around me were the echoing-dunes, beyond me
The cold and sparkling silver of the sea
—
We two will pass through death and ages lengthen
Before you hear that sound again with
me.
III
"OH DAY OF FIRE AND SUN"
Oh day of fire and sun,
Pure as a naked flame,
Blue sea, blue sky and dun
Sands where he spoke my name;
Laughter and hearts so high
That the spirit flew off free,
Lifting into the sky,
Diving into the sea;
Oh day of fire and sun
Like a crystal burning,
Slow days go one by one,
But you have no
returning.
IV
WHEN DEATH IS OVER
If there is any life when death is over,
These tawny beaches will know much of
me,
I shall come back, as constant and as changeful
As the unchanging, many-colored
sea.
If life was small, if it has made me scornful,
Forgive me; I shall straighten like a
flame
In the great calm of death, and if you want me
Stand on the sun-swept dunes and call my
name.
The BookmanSara Teasdale
SONG
Let it be forgotten, as a flower is forgotten,
Forgotten as a fire that once was singing
gold.
Let it be forgotten forever and ever —
Time is a kind friend, he will make us
old.
If anyone asks, say it was forgotten
Long and long ago —
As a flower, as a fire, as a hushed footfall
In a long forgotten
snow.
Poetry, A Magazine of VerseSara Teasdale
ACHIEVEMENT
When my young Soul went first to ride
And take the air,
I stitched a gown of finest words
For her to wear,
Lacy white, and ribbon-tied
With doting care.
When next my Soul fared out, she wore
Plain garb and grey;
Close-buttoned from her chin to feet
She rode away;
Behind a double-bolted door
Her finery lay.
Now, when my Soul rides out, I fold
With strictest care
Each slightest garment stern away,
And loose her hair;
Godiva-shy, Godiva-bold,
She takes the air.
The NationFlorence Jenney
AVE
(Madame Olga Petrova.)
The pomp of capitals long left to rust
Glows in her flesh and her ironic
eyes.
Gazing on her, old pageantries
arise
Of queens and splendid courtesans, whose lust
Was power to loot a peacock throne, or thrust
Satraps to battle for their beauty's
prize.
Thus Theodora flaunted, and none
otherwise
La Pompadour and Lais gone to dust.
Her wit is a keen weapon wrought for war
Against the grayness of democracy.
No broadsword this, but a bright scimitar,
Tempered in flame and edged with
subtlety.
Her art is life; in braver days than this
She would have throned it with
Semiramis.
Ainslee's MagazineWalter Adolphe Roberts
LILITH, LILITH
Lilith, Lilith wept for the moon:
Its icy beauty troubled her sleep,
Stirred and thrilled her breast with a tune
Of crystal notes that fluttered the
deep.
Climbing up the tower of light,
She sought the sound and followed the
flame;
Cold as snow, implacably white,
The moon spun high and muttered her
name.
White as Adam's body of yore
And like that flesh she never could
thrill,
Far and pale as Paradise door,
The vision flooded meadow and
hill....
She, the flame, the passionate flower,
Awoke and cried for waking so
soon....
In a glimmering, scented, sleepless bower,
Lilith, Lilith wept for the
moon.
New York Sun Books and the Book WorldHerbert S. Gorman
PORTRAIT OF A LADY
Her eyes are sunlit hazel:
Soft shadows round them play.
Her dark hair, smoothly ordered,
Is faintly touched with grey.
Full of a gentle brightness
Her look and language are: —
Kind tongue that never wounded,
Sweet mirth that leaves no
scar.
Her dresses are soft lilac
And silver-pearly grey.
She wears, on meet occasion,
Modes of a bygone day,
Yet moves with bright composure
In fashion's pageant set,
Until her world she teaches
Its costume to forget.
With score of friends foregathered
Before a cheerful blaze,
She loves good ranging converse
Of past and future days.
Her best delight (too seldom)
From olden friends to hear
How fares the small old city
She left this many a year.
(There is a still more pleasant,
A cosier converse still,
When, all the guests departed,
Close comrades talk their fill.
Beside our smouldering fire
We muse and wonder late;
Commingling household gossip
With talk of gods and fate.)
All seemly ways of living, —
Proportion, comeliness,
Authority and order,—
Her loyal heart possess.
Then with what happy fingers
She spreads the linen fair
In that great Church of Bishops
That is her darling care!
And yet I dare to forecast
What her new name must be
Writ in the mystic volume
Beside the crystal sea: —
Instead of "True Believer,"
The golden quill hath penned,
"Of the poor beasts that perish,
The brave and gentle
friend."
Scribner's MagazineSarah N. Cleghorn
DOROTHY
I
HER EYES
Her eyes hold black whips —
dart of a whip
lashing, nay, flicking,
nay, merely caressing
the hide of a heart —
and a broncho tears through canyons —
walls reverberating,
sluggish streams
shaken to rapids and torrents,
storm destroying
silence and solitude!
Her eyes throw black lariats —
one for his head,
one for his heels —
and the beast lies vanquished —
walls still,
streams still,
except for a tarn,
or is it a pool,
or is it a whirlpool
twitching with
memory?
II
HER HAIR
Her hair
is a tent
held down by two pegs —
ears, very likely —
where two gypsies —
lips, dull folk call them —
read your soul away:
one promising something,
the other stealing it.
If the pegs would let go —
why is it they're hidden? —
and the tent
blow away — drop away —
like a wig —or a nest —
maybe
you'd escape
paying coin
to gypsies —
maybe —
III
HER HANDS
Blue veins
of morning glories —
blue veins
of clouds —
blue veins
bring deep-toned silence
after a storm.
White horns
of morning glories —
white flutes
of clouds —
sextettes hold silence fast,
cup it for aye.
Could I
blow morning glories —
could I
lip clouds —
I'd sound the silence
her hands bring to me.
Had I
the yester sun —
had I
the morrow's —
brush them like cymbals,
I'd then sound the
noise.
IV
HER BODY
Her body gleams
like an altar candle —
white in the dark —
and modulates
to voluptuous bronze —
bronze of a sea —
under the flame.
The DialAlfred Kreymborg
TO OTHER MARYS
Christ said "Mary," as he walked within the
garden
The morning that he rose from death, calm
and free of pain;
The wounds in his hands and his side no longer burned
him.
He that once had been a man was a God
again.
Christ said, "Mary," as he walked within the
garden.
All in his triumphing, back from the
dead,
With the wind upon his cheek, while the world was new
to him,
"Mary" was the first name he ever
said.
The first Mary God chose, he looked about the world for
her
And saw her walking with the maids of
Galilee;
—She stood beside a clumsy-nailed cross
above a hillside,
And saw the babe on it she had held at
her knee.—
Christ praised another Mary whom the saints rebuked for
wastefulness;
For he understood them well, all Marys of
his day,
Yes, and of today, too, Marys staid and caring,
Marys wild and home-loving—it was his
way.
Martha and Lazarus talked with Christ at
supper-time,
Martha and Lazarus, of crops and folk and
wars;
But while the food was cleared away, low by the
doorstep
It was Mary spoke to him, when there were
stars.
Not of crops and gossip, not of work and neighbors
—
Christ and Mary talked about the wishing
to be good
And the easy falling, and the new beginnings,
And the way the moon looked, low above
the wood.
Christ said, "Mary," as he walked within the
garden;
Startled, Mary Magdalene raised her
tear-stained face.
That was very long ago, in a far-off country,
In a far-off country, and a foreign
place.
Still each year at Easter-time do we think again of
her,
And the other Marys who. are dead in the
earth,
Who are dead long ago, but who loved and tended
him
When our Lord was a man, and felt of
tears and mirth.
All the Marys of the world, let us pray together
now,
Mary Schwartz, and Mary Brown, and Mary
Rosenstein,
Little Mary Donnelly, Mary Holt and Mary Hull,
Mary Olsen, Mary Morse, all in a
line.
Since it is the Easter-time, and little bells are
ringing,
Let us walk in still pride, with lifting
of the head,
For when he had risen from the grave, as all the world
knows,
"Mary" was the first name that God ever
said.
Contemporary VerseMary Carolyn Davies
THEY THAT DWELL IN SHADOW
They that dwell in shadow
Perpetually roam
In leagues of spectral meadow,
By phantom miles of foam.
Their lives are very weary,
And yet they cannot die,
Leave their sea-beaches dreary,
Or change that bitter sky.
They that dwell in shadow,
They twitter like dry leaves
In talk along the meadow,
And none is glad, or grieves.
They whisper, whisper only,
And no man, save he dwell
Beside those sea waves lonely
Knows what it is they' tell.
They that dwell in shadow
Are neither good nor bad;
Their hearts are like the meadow,
Monotonous and sad.
The world has died around them,
The skies are blank above:
I happened there and found them —
Their whispers were of
love.
The Midland, A Magazine of the Middle WestHoward Mumford Jones
SONG OF A WOMAN WITH TWINS
Ou! Ou! Ou!
When I was young and
little,
And thought only of the mealies and
the sun
And the wet whispering river
water,
How could I tell what would befall
me —
How could I know what should come to
me!
Why did the demons come?
Why did they make me bear
Two bodies at one birth?
Ah, they were not like demons —
They were like little helpless man-children,
Little and hungry, with curling hands and feet,
Like the son I hoped to bear!
All the night I screamed.
And all the night I bore them —
Why did the witch-man's drum, beating by my head,
Why did the witch-man's charms, smelling strong with
enchantment —
Why did they not keep the demons
From being born to me?
My father gave him cowries,
Cowries and a gun,
Taken from a white man
That he killed a year ago —
Slowly, slowly,
For good and lasting magic
That the gun should shoot straight.
None had such a gun!
And yet the demons came —
At my right breast a demon,
At my left breast a demon,
Sucking, sucking.
Oh, the little hungry mouths,
Oh, the little curling hands,
That they will drown tonight!
Ou! Ou! Ou!
When I was little and
young,
Tumbling laughing in the
sunshine,
How should I know what would come to
me?
How should I know what would befall
me?
Ou! Ou!
Ou!
Poetry, A Magazine of VerseMyrtle Eberstein
ASPHALT
Light your cigarette, then, in this shadow,
And talk to her, your arm engaged with hers.
Heavily over your heads the eaten maple
In the dead air of August strains and
stirs.
Her stone-white face, in the lamp-light, turns toward
you;
Darkly, with time-dark eyes, she questions you
Whether this universe is what she thinks it —
Simple and passionate and profound and true
—
Or whether, as with a sound of dim disaster,
A plaintive music brought to a huddled fall,
Some ancient treachery slides through the heart of
things —
The last star falling, seen from the utmost
wall...
And you — what sinister, far,
reserves of laughter,
What understandings, remote, perplexed, remain
Unguessed forever by her who is your victim —
Victim, of whom you too are victim again?
... Come! let us dance once more on the ancient
asphalt:
Seeing, beneath its strange and recent shape,
The eternal horror of rock, from which, for ever,
We toss our tortured hands, to no
escape.
The DialConrad Aiken
TO A PERSIAN MANUSCRIPT
Behind the high white wall
There is always a garden —
A lawn, close-clipped and pale,
Studded with flowers;
There they have placed a chair
For the happy guest,
And slim high-bosomed maidens
Bring flesh and figs and wine
In. bowls of peacock blue.
'Beyond the minaretted gate
Go elephants in caravan,
And horsemen ride through forest tracery
Of gold and flowers
To cities
Arched and white against the sky.
These are windows
Opening on a golden world —
Blooming-islands on a sea
Of dim, dust colored vellum,
While the ripples —
Painted rhythms,
Sable characters —
Bear challenge to the wit
More potent still
Than half-guessed imagery
Of illumined page.
And as the traveller without the wall
Divines with thirsty heart
The hidden flash of fountains,
So to me, among these silent books,
Is borne the cadence of a desert tongue,
And beauty blossoms here
Upon my knees.
The NationIda O'Neil
THE ROAD TO BABYLON
"How far is it to Babylon?
— Threescore miles and ten.
Can I get there by candle-light?
Yes, and back again."
And while nurse hummed the old, old rhyme,
Tucking him in at evening time,
He dreamed how when he grew a man
And travelled free, as big men can,
He'd slip out through the garden gate
To roads where high adventures wait
And find the way to Babylon,
Babylon, far Babylon,
All silver-towered in the sun!
He's travelled free, a man with men;
(Bitter the scores of miles and ten!)
And now face down by Babylon's wall
He sleeps, nor any more at all
By morning, noon or candle-light
Or in the wistful summer night
To his own garden gate he'll come.
— Young feet that fretted so to roam
Have missed the road returning
home.
Scribner's Magazine Margaret Adelaide Wilson
TIGER LILY
Gray are the gardens of our Celtic lands,
Dreaming and gray,
Tended by the devotion of pale hands,
On barren crags, or by disastrous sands,
That night and day
Are drenched with bitter spray.
There rosemary and thyme are plentiful,
Larkspur that lovers cull,
Love-in-the-mist that is most sorrowful.
Flowers so wistful that our teardrops start....
Scarcely one understands that regal, rare,
Bravely the tiger lily blossoms there,
Bravely apart.
Our gardens are enamored of the spring,
Of silver rain,
The cloudy green of buds slow-burgeoning,
The sorrow of last apple blooms that cling
And are not fain
To yield their fruit again.
We do not long for tropic pageantry,
Yet surge with love to see
The tiger lily's muted ecstasy.
Watered by mist and lashed by wind-blown rime,
She is no alien thing; but vivid, free,
She has no heed for paler rosemary,
Larkspur or thyme.
It is in vain they worship her who knows
Pity nor pride.
Their petals whirl down every wind that goes
South to the palms or northward to the snows,
Mourning they died
So distant from her side.
But the brave tiger lily blossoms on,
Never to be undone
Till the last rosemary and thyme are gone.
Tattered by autumn storms, she will not fling
Herself to sullen foes. The winter rain
Alone can beat her down, to bloom again
Spring after spring.
Ainslee's MagazineWalter Adolphe Roberts
THE DREAMERS
We are the deathless dreamers of the world.
Errant and sad, our argosies must
go
On barren quests and all the winds that
blow
Lure us to battle where tall seas are hurled.
When over us the last ninth wave has curled,
We are renascent still. The gods
bestow
Madness that lifts us on the ebb and
flow.
The flags of our defeat are never furled.
We were not born to find the golden fleece,
Or win some white queen's love, or storm
the stars.
Yet, by great Pan, we were not born for peace!
One prize is ours — beauty, time shall not slay:
Terrible beauty from disastrous
wars,
Mystical beauty from the realms of
fey.
Ainslee's MagazineWalter Adolphe Roberts
THREE GIRLS
Three school-girls pass this way each day:
Two of them go in the fluttery way
Of girls, with all that girlhood buys;
But one goes with a dream in her eyes,
Two of them have the eyes of girls
Whose hair is learning scorn of curls,
But the eyes of one are like wide doors
Opening out on misted shores.
And they will go as they go to-day
On to the end of life's short way;
Two will have what living buys,
And one will have the dream in her eyes.
Two will die as many must,
And fitly dust will welcome dust;
But dust has nothing to do with one —
She dies as soon as her dream is
done.
The Century MagazineHazel Hall
APPARITION
I walked my fastest down the twilight street;
Sometimes I ran a little, it was so
late.
At first the houses echoed back my feet,
Then the path softened just before our
gate.
Even in the dusk I saw, even in my haste,
Lawn-tracks and gravel-marks. "That's
where he plays;
The scooter and the cart these lines have traced,
And Baby wheels her doll here, sunny
days."
Our door was open; on the porch still lay
Ungathered toys; our hearth-light cut the
gloam;
Within, round table-candles, you —and they.
And I called out, I shouted, "I am come
home!"
At first you heard not, then you raised your
eyes,
Watched me a moment — and showed no
surprise.
Such dreams we have had often, when we stood
Thought-struck amid the merciful
routine,
And distance more than danger chilled the blood,
When we looked back and saw what lay
between;
Like ghosts that have their portion of farewell,
Yet will be looking in on life
again,
And see old faces, and have news to tell,
But no one heeds them; they are phantom
men.
Now home indeed, and old loves greet us back.
Yet — shall we say it? — something here we lack,
Some reach and climax we have left
behind.
And something here is dead, that without sound
Moves lips at us and beckons, shadow-bound,
But what it means, we cannot call to
mind.
Harper's MagazineJohn Erskine
FACES
Four faces in the dark,
Eight eyes aglow
With the pale lunar spark
Fireflies do show.
Four brows, specter-white,
Crowned with lambent hair; —
Only in the blackest night
Are these things there.
Eight lips that question me,
Moving to and fro;
Quiet as shadows be
On new-fallen snow.
Eight hands beckoning,
Spindrift of the wind; —
Past all mortal reckoning
Are phantoms of the mind.
Deep, return to deep again,
And old dreams fade.
Children, let me sleep again,
Calm and unafraid.
The Outlook Harold Trowbridge Pulsifer
ENDING
A fitting benediction of words
Stood, one by one, upon
The warped threshold of your mouth.,
Dreams are wandering realities
Stooping to pick stray roadside flowers
And making silent boutonnieres
Silent drops of mockery.
And since the flowers quickly die,
Dreams must ever walk with closed eyes.
Hearing you, the dream I held
Opened its eyes and perished.
The DialMaxwell Bodenheim
BRICK-DUST
It's just a heap of ruin,
A drunken brick carouse —
This thing my spirit grew in
That once was called a house.
An attic where I scribbled
Through baking summer days,
While street-pianos nibbled
At the patient Marseillaise.
The spider-landlord squatted
In a web of dinner-smells,
And people slowly rotted
In little gossip-hells.
I hated all I learned there—
And yet I could have cried
For a little oil I burned there,
A little dream that
died.
Poetry, A Magazine of VerseLouisa Brooke
WASHINGTON
The white-walled Rome of an unwritten epic,
Spreading like the waters of a new well
run;
Drinking at the lips of a clear green river
Rising in the fountains and the wells of
the sun!
Nothing of imperial dust in her cellars,
Nothing of the torn old tower and
dome;
Mistress of her clean white halls unhaunted
City of the sunrise, altar, and
home!
City of the sunrise hills unhaunted
By the skulls of kings and the ribs of
decay;
Seeded in the earth like a clean deep tap-root—
The granite in the oak of her boughs
today!'
A white ship built in a cool green forest
And launched with the green leaves fresh
on her bow,
Sun on her sails and foam on her anchors,
Halfway out on her maiden trip
now!
The clean new Rome of an unwritten epic,
Spreading to the borders of a universal
dream;
A white ship launched on a universal river,
Steering for the sun at the mouth of the
stream!
The NationAloysius Coll
TANGIBLES
(Washington, August, 1918)
I have seen this city in the day and the sun.
I have seen this city in the night and the moon.
And in the night and the moon I have seen a thing this
city gave me nothing of in the day and the sun.
The float of the dome in the day and the sun is one
thing.
The float of the dome in the night and the moon is
another thing.
In the night and the moon the float of the dome is a
dream-whisper, a croon of a hope: "Not today, child, not today, lover; maybe
tomorrow, child, maybe tomorrow, lover."
Can a dome of iron dream deeper than living men?
Can the float of a shape hovering among tree-tops — can
this speak an oratory sad, singing and red beyond the speech of the living
men?
A mother of men, a sister, a lover, a woman past the
dreams of the living —
Does she go sad, singing and red out of the float of
this dome?
There is ... something ... here ... men die
for.
Poetry, A Magazine of VerseCarl Sandburg
A REPUBLIC !
Her faith abandoned and her place despised,
Her mission lost through ridicule, hooted forth
From the forum she erected, by cat calls,
And tory sneers and schemes. Her basic law.
Scoffed out of court, amended at the need
Of stomachology by the judges, or
A majority of States, as it is said
Rather by drunks and grafters, for the time
The spokesmen of the States, coerced and scared
By Methodists with a fund to hire spies,
And unearth women scrapes, or other sins
With which to say: Vote dry, or be exposed.
A marsh Atlantis drifting, towed at last
By pirates into harbor, made a pasture
For alien hatreds, greeds. A shackled press,
And voices gagged, creative spirits frozen,
Obtunded by disgust or fear. War only,
Armies and navies speak the national mind,
And make it move as a man; for other things
Resistance, thought divided, ostracism,
Or jail for their protagonists. At the mast
The cross above the cross-bones, in between
The starry banner. A people hatched like
chickens:
Of feeble spirit for much inter-crossing,
Without vision and without will, incapable
Of lusty revolution whatever right
Is spit upon or taken. A wriggling mass
Bemused and babbling, trampling private right
As a tyrant tramples it, calling it law
Because it speaks the majority of the mob.
A land that breeds the reformer, the infuriate
Will in the shallow mind, the plague of frogs
That hop into our rooms at Pharaoh's will,
And spoil our banquet dishes, hour of joy.
A giantess growing huger, duller of mind,
Her gland pituitary being injured!
The NationEdgar Lee Masters
YOU TALK OF THIS AND THAT
You talk of this and that, of that and this:
Have you ever tried, since you've been over here,
Just being a plain American, my friend?
Have you ever lived in one of our little towns,
Worked side by side with fellow-citizens
And shared the ups and downs of life with them?
Have you ever honestly striven to accept
This country of ours that has accepted you?
If you have not, what right have you to
speak?
Have you ever been upon our Western plains
Waving with untold miles of ripened wheat?
Have you known our mountains and our farms and
forests,
Our townships and our populated cities
Or got into the inside of our life
Built up through years of order, progress, law?
If you have not, what right have you to
speak?
Do you think that what the Pilgrim Fathers
sought,
Yes, sought and found, was sought and found in
vain?
Is Washington a myth and name to you?
Have you ever learned from Franklin's homely
wisdom
Or from the large humanity of Lincoln
Or studied in the school of our great men
From whom we draw our widening heritage?
If you have not, what right have you to
speak?
You talk of this and that, of that and this:
Have you ever tried, since you've been over
here,.
Just being a plain American, my friend?
If you have not, what right have you
to speak?
The OutlookHarry Kemp
DEPORTED
The transports move stealthily to sea —
The sea so prone to take strange freightage eagerly
—
But this sad freightage even the sea disowns
And lifts its storms and frowns in darker mood
And never was a cargo more adrift...
There are no ports, no country's flag, no waiting
hands
In any land on earth for it.
Nor any home to take it in.
And all the prisons are too proud.
O Mayflower! Ships of Columbus!
And frigates and vessels of wood and of steel,
With your cargoes of gifts and your graces!
O swift laughing sails like fluttering garments of
girls
Running down soft green slopes
To a dance with their lovers at Fair time!
O all the brave prows that advance to these
shores
Like believers to the rail at communion!
Be blind! Turn away from-those ships, from those
spectres,
Do not think these the cargoes we send out from our shores,
These of the darkness, in the night, in secrecy,
Under sealed orders!'
O Liberty! Mother! with your head proudly erect
And your regal brow confident
And your uplifted arm
Hailing far children of earth to your sheltering;
O Liberty! Mother who nurses back to full
strength
The offspring of breasts that are empty,
Who gives and who trusts and who welcomes in limitless
trusting!
Do not look down at these ships as they pass —
Purring like cats that are clawing their kill —
Oh, do not notice!
The New York SunKathryn White Ryan
THE TANKERS
'To Bombay and Capetown, and ports of a hundred
lands,
To Mombassa, Panama, and Aden on the sands,
Red with rust and green with mould, caked with sodden
brine,
The reeling, rolling tankers sail Southward from the
Tyne.
Southward past the Cornish cliffs, cleft red against
the clouds,
They snort and stagger onward with sailors in their
shrouds
To the spell of rolling seas and the blue of a windy
sky
While the smoke lies brown to leeward or the liners
scurry by.
Thrashing through a tearing gale with a dark green sea
ahead,
While the funnel clews sing madly against a sky of
red,
Foam choked and wave choked, scarred by battered
gear,
The long brown decks are whirling seas where silver
combers rear.
Swinging down a brilliant gulf with shores of brown and
gray
The snub-nosed, well-decked tankers slowly steam their
way
Up the straits to the Pirate Coast and dim harbors of
the South
Where they lie like long red patches by a jungle
river's mouth.
Contemporary VerseGordon Malherbe Hillman
MARINERS
Men who have loved the ships they took to sea,
Loved the tall masts, the prows that
creamed with foam,
Have learned, deep in their hearts, how it might
be
That there is yet a dearer thing than
home.
The decks they walk, the rigging in the stars,
The clean boards counted in the watch
they keep —
These, and the sunlight on the slippery spars,
Will haunt them ever, waking and
asleep.
Ashore, these men are not as other men:
They walk as strangers through the
crowded street,
Or, brooding by their fires, they hear again
The drone astern, where gurgling waters
meet,
Or see again a wide and blue lagoon,
And a lone ship that rides there with the
moon.
Harper's MagazineDavid Morton
INLAND
People that build their houses inland,
People that buy a plot of ground
Shaped like a house and build a house there,
Far from the seaboard, far from the
sound
Of water sucking the hollow ledges,
Tons of water striking the shore,
What do they long for, as I long for
One salt smell of the sea once
more?
People the waves have not awakened,
Spanking the boats at the barber's
head:,
What do they long for, as I long for —
Starting up in my inland bed,
Beating the narrow walls and finding
Neither a window nor a door,
Screaming to God for death by drowning! —
One salt taste of the sea once
more?
Ainslee's MagazineEdna St. Vincent Millay
SEKHMET THE LION-HEADED
In the dark night I heard a stirring,
Near me something was purring.
A voice, deep-throated, spoke:
I litter armies for all easts and wests
And norths-and souths:
They suckle my girl-goddess breasts,
And my fierce milk drips from their mouths.
The voice sang:
I do not kill! I, Sekhmet the Lion-headed, I!
But between my soft hands they die.
I asked:
O Sekhmet, Lion-headed one,
How long shall warring be?
And Sekhmet deigned to make reply:
Eternally!
Bold in my faith I grew:
Dread goddess-cat, you lie!
Warring shall cease!
My God of love is greater far
Than you!
How gentle was the voice of Sekhmet then:
He of the Star?
He Whom they called the Prince of Peace —
And slew? —
And slew again — and yet again? —
Ah, yes! —she said.
And all about my bed
The night grew laughing-red:
Sekhmet I did not see
But in that bleeding dusk I heard
That Sekhmet purred.
Contemporary VerseLeonora Speyer
BINDLESTIFF
Oh, the lives of men, lives of
men,
In pattern-molds be
run;
But there's you, and me, and
Bindlestiff —
And remember Mary's
Son.
At dawn the hedges and the wheel-ruts ran
Into a brightening sky. The grass bent low
With shimmering dew, and many a late wild rose
Unrolled the petals from its odorous heart
While birds held tuneful gossip. Suddenly,
Each bubbling trill and whistle hid away
As from a hawk; the fragrant silence heard
Only the loving stir of little leaves;
Then a man's baritone broke roughly in:
I've' gnawed my crust of mouldy
bread,
Skimmed my mulligan
stew;
Laid beneath the barren hedge
—
Sleety night-winds
blew.
Slanting rain chills my
bones,
Sun bakes my skin;
Rocky road for my limping
feet,
Door where I can't go
in.
Above the hedgerow floated filmy smoke
From the hidden singer's fire. Once more the
voice:
I used to burn the mules with the
whip
When I worked on the
grading gang;
But the boss was a crook, and he
docked my pay —
Some day that boss will
hang.
I used to live in a six by
nine,
Try to save my dough
—
It's a bellful of the chaff of
life,
Feet that up and
go.
The mesh of leafy branches rustled loud,
Into the road slid Bindlestiff. You've seen
The like of the traveller: gaunt humanity
In stained and broken coat, with untrimmed hedge
Of rusty beard and curling sunburnt hair;
His hat, once white, a dull uncertain cone;
His leathery hands and cheeks, his bright blue
eyes
That always see new faces and strange dogs;
His mouth that laughs at life and at
himself.
Sometimes they shut you up in jail
—
Dark, and a filthy
cell;
I hope the fellows built them
jails
Find 'em down in
hell.
But up above, you can sleep outdoors
—
Feed you like a
king;
You' never have to saw no
wood,
Only job is
sing.
The tones came mellower, as unevenly
The tramp limped off trailing the hobo
song:
Good-bye, farewell to
Omaha,
K. C., and Denver,
too;
Put my foot on the flying
freight,
Going to ride her
through.
Bindlestiff topped a hillock, against the sky
Showed stick and bundle with his extra shoes
Jauntily dangling. Bird to bird once more
Made low sweet answer; in the wild rose cups
The bee found yellow meal; all softly moved
The white and purple morning-glory bells
As on the gently rustling hedgetop leaves
The sun's face rested. Bindlestiff was
gone.
Oh, the lives of men, lives of
men,
In pattern-molds be
run;
But there's you, and me, and
Bindlestiff —
And remember Mary's
Son.
Poetry, A Magazine of VerseEdwin Ford Piper
THE WANDERING JEW
I saw by looking in his eyes
That they remembered everything;
And this was how I came to know
That he was here, still wandering.
For though the figure and the scene
Were never to be reconciled,
I knew the man as I had known
His image when I was a child.
With evidence at every turn, I should have held it safe
to guess
That all the newness of New York
Had nothing new in loneliness;
Yet here was one who might be Noah,
Or Nathan, or Abimelech,
Or Lamech, out of ages lost, —
Or, more than all, Melchizedek.
Assured that he was none of these,
I gave them back their names again,
To scan once more those endless eyes
Where all my questions ended then.
I found in them what they revealed
That I shall not live to forget,
And wondered if they found in mine
Compassion that I might regret.
Pity, I learned, was not the least
Of time's offending benefits
That had now for so long impugned
The conservation of his wits'
Rather it was that I should yield,
Alone, the fealty that presents
The tribute of a tempered ear
To an untempered eloquence.
Before I pondered long enough
On whence he came and who he was,
I trembled at his ringing wealth
Of manifold anathemas;.
I wondered, while he seared the world,
What new defection ailed the race,
And if it mattered how remote
Our fathers were from such a place.
Before there was an hour for me
To contemplate with less concern
The crumbling realm awaiting us
Than his that was beyond return,
A dawning on the dust of years
Had shaped with an elusive light
Mirages of remembered scenes
That were no longer for the sight.
For now the gloom that hid the man
Became a daylight on his wrath,
And one wherein my fancy viewed
New lions ramping in his path.
The old were dead and had no fangs,
Wherefore he loved them — seeing not
They were the same that in their time
Had eaten everything they caught.
The world around him was a gift
Of anguish to his eyes and ears,
And one that he had long reviled
As fit for devils, not for seers.
Where, then, was there a place for him
That on this other side of death
Saw nothing good, as he had seen
No good come out of Nazareth?
Yet here there was a reticence,
And I believe his only one,
That hushed him as if he beheld
A Presence that would not be gone.
In such a silence he confessed.
How much there was to be denied;
And he would look at me and live,
As others might have looked and died.
As if at last he knew again
That he had always known, his eyes
Were like to those of one who gazed
On those of One who never dies.
For such a moment he revealed
What life has in it to be lost;
And I could ask if what I saw,
Before me there, was man or ghost.
He may have died so many times
That all there was of him to see
Was pride, that kept itself alive
As too rebellious to be free;
He may have told, when more than once
Humility seemed imminent,
How many a lonely time in vain
The Second Coming came and went.
Whether he still defies or not
The failure of an angry task
That relegates him out of time
To chaos, I can only ask.
But as I knew him, so he was;
And somewhere among men today
Those old, unyielding eyes may flash,
And flinch — and look the other way.
The OutlookEdwin Arlington Robinson
MAXIMILIAN MARVELOUS
"Maximilian Marvelous," we called him for a joke;
He used to pass us every day, but rarely ever
spoke.
The shoes he wore were scandalous —they did not fit his
feet;
In tattered coat and greasy shirt he shuffled down the
street.
When once we stopped Max solemnly, to pass the time of
day,
He looked at us, half-doubting, in a hesitating
way,
And when we asked him if t'were true that he was once a
king
Of some forgotten island, where the South Sea maidens
sing,
Lo! Maximilian Marvelous gave us a withering
smile.
I'll ne'er forget his answer, as it came in vigorous
style:
"I am a king of everything my roving eyes survey.
My kingdom's built of sun-lit bowers where little
children play,
My sceptre's made of jeweled song that wakes old
village lanes,
My banquet hall is piled with dreams that romp in April
rains.
The great, wide world is my estate, but here I choose
to 'bide,
I married Lady Poverty, and I am satisfied.
I do not work — kings never work; why should I soil my
hands?
I am the ruler of my time, for town or meadow
lands.
Perhaps I am an artist; then I paint the sunset
sky;
Perhaps I am a poet when the days of Autumn die.
I eat one square meal every day; its source nobody
knows,
And he who gives it to me sees I also get some
clothes.
The sun and rains are friends of mine, the stars are my
delight,
They bring me thoughts of childhood when my mother's
eyes were bright.
I am a king of everything that money cannot buy.
The richest man on earth, like me, must some day fade
and die."
Then Maximilian Marvelous said not another thing;
And as he walked away we cried, "He's every inch a
king!"
New York TimesJ. Corson Miller.
ACCOMPLISHED FACTS
Every year Emily Dickinson sent one friend
the first arbutus bud in her garden.
In a last will and testament Andrew Jackson
remembered a friend with the gift of George
Washington's pocket spy-glass.
Napoleon too, in a last testament, mentioned a
silver
watch taken from the bedroom of Frederick the
Great,
and passed along this trophy to a particular
friend.
O. Henry took a blood carnation from his coat
lapel
and handed it to a country girl starting work in
a
bean bazaar, and scribbled: "Peach blossoms may
or
may not stay pink in city dust."
So it goes. Some things we buy, some not.
Tom Jefferson was proud of his radishes, and Abe
Lincoln
blacked his own boots, and Bismarck called Berlin a
wilderness of brick and newspapers.
So it goes. There are accomplished facts.
Ride, ride, ride on in the great new blimps —
Cross unheard-of oceans, circle the planet.
When you come back we may sit by five hollyhocks.
We might listen to boys fighting for marbles.
The grasshopper will look good to us.
So it goes....
Poetry, A Magazine of VerseCarl Sandburg
FOR THE EIGHTH OF DECEMBER
(The Birthday of Horace)
This festal day, two thousand times returning,
Should light fresh fires on all the
altar-sods.
His natal day! we should set incense burning,
And call — if gods there were —upon the
gods.
We, his good friends, right joyous should demean
us,
Like Horace on the birthday of Mæcenas.
Eheu! we lack all Persian apparatus —
The wine, the nard, the rose's tardy
bloom;
No troops of saucy home-bred slaves await us,
Nor polished silver in the fire-lit
room;
And as for lyres and lutes of sound convention,
The H. C. L. forbids their very mention.
Around our board what cronies he'd find missing:
No Tyndaris, no Cyrus — and no
quarrel!
No Telephus with his tantalizing kissing,
No Cervius droning his long-winded
moral.
No Thaliarch to push the lagging Massic!
What in our party, then, would he find
classic?
There is one thing would save us from disaster,
And make our feast right worthy of the
day;
A fitting tribute to the lyric master —
I mean, of course, an Ode by F. P.
A.
Give us but that; 'twere the whole celebration
In Horace's and in our estimation.
The NationGeorge Meason Whicher
WALKERS
A Child on the Street
Strange that she can keep with ease
A pace so free and fleet,
When such relentless destinies
Stalk at her feet.
Strange she does not see the blur
Where their shadows run
With her footfall, sinister
In the sun.
Some are vague as shadow cast
By clouds where long hills dip,
And some sharp like the broken mast
Of a drifted ship.
Still with here incredulous tread
Defying the darkened ground,
She keeps a pace whose echoes shed
Laughing sound.
And still close at her tripping heel
The old shadows stir,
Deepening as they steal
Nearer her.
A Very Old Woman
She passes by though long ago
Time drained the life out of her tread;
She died then, yet she does not know
That she is dead.
Her footsteps are indefinite
With sound, and who are dead should pass
Sandaled as the wind when it
Moves through the grass.
Her shadow twitches on the walk,
And who are not of life should run
Shadowless as a lily's stalk
In full day's sun.
Yet these cling to her—stricken sound
And shadow casting ragged stains;
They drag behind her on the ground
Like broken chains.
It is silence mastering her tread,
Darkness, insidious and slow,
Blotting her imprint ... but she is dead
And does not know.
The New RepublicHazel Hall
OLD LIZETTE ON SLEEP
Bed is the boon for me!
It's well to bake and sweep,
But hear the word of old Lizette:
It's better than all to sleep.
Summer and flowers are gay,
And morning light and dew;
But aged eyelids love the dark
Where never a light seeps through.
What! — open-eyed, my dears,
Thinking your hearts will break?
There's nothing, nothing, nothing, I say,
That's worth the lying awake!
I learned it in my youth —
Love I was dreaming of!
I learned it from the needle-work
That took the place of love.
I learned it from the years
And what they brought about;
From song, and from the hills of joy
Where sorrow sought me out.
It's good to dream and turn,
And turn and dream, or fall
To comfort with my pack of bones,
And know of nothing at all!
Yes, never know at all
If prowlers mew or bark,
Nor wonder if it's three o'clock
Or four o'clock of the dark.
When the longer shades have fallen
And the last weariness
Has brought the sweetest gift of life,
The last forgetfulness,
If a sound as of old leaves
Stir the last bed I keep,
Then say, my dears: "It's old Lizette —
She's turning in her sleep."
Poetry, A Magazine of VerseAgnes Lee
UP CARR CREEK
The ways of the world are a-coming — up Cyarr!
Biled shirts and neckties,
Powder-pots and veils,
Pizen fotched-on liquor,
Doctor-pills, and ails —
Hit's a sight, all the brash that's a-coming — up
Cyarr!
The ways of the mountains are passing — up Cyarr!
Moonshine stills and manhood,
Gear to weave and spin,
Good old Reg'lar Baptists
Preaching hell for sin.
Far'well to the old ways a-passing — up
Cyarr!
The ways of the world will be holding — up Cyarr!
Sorry ways, the old ways,
They've a call to go.
Only, when you're grave-bound,
Changing's allus slow.
Old folks will bide by the old ways — up
Cyarr.
The OutlookAnn Cobb(Of the Settlement School, Hindman, Knott County, Kentucky.)
THE WIDOW-MAN
I've brung you my three babes, that lost their Maw a
year ago.
Folks claim you are right women, larnd, and fitten for
to know
What's best for babes, and how to raise 'em into
Christian men..
I've growed afeared to leave 'em lest the house ketch
fire again.
For though I counsel 'em a sight each time I ride to
town,
Little chaps get so sleepy-headed when the dark comes
down!
A body can make shift somehow to feed 'em up of
days,
But nights they need a woman-person's foolish little
ways
(When all of t'other young things are tucked under
mammy's wing,
And the hoot-owls and the frogs and all the lonesome
critters sing).
You'll baby 'em a little when you get 'em in their
gown?
Little chaps get so sleepy-headed when the dark comes
down!
The OutlookAnn Cobb(Of the Settlement School, Hindman, Knott County, Kentucky.)
KIVERS
Yes, I've sev'ral kivers you can see;
'Light, and hitch your beastie in the shade!
I don't foller weaving now so free,
And all my purtiest ones my forebears made.
Home-dyed colors kindly meller down
Better than these new fotched-on ones from
town.
I ricollect my granny at the loom
Weaving that blue one yonder on the bed.
She put the shuttle by and laid in tomb.
Her word was I could claim hit when I wed.
"Flower of Edinboro'" was hit's name,
Betokening the land from which she came.
Nary a daughter have I for the boon,
But there's my son's wife, from the level land,
She took the night with us at harvest-moon, —
A comely, fair young maid, with loving hand.
I gave her three — "Sunrise" and "Trailing Vine"
And "Young Man's Fancy." She admired 'em
fine.
That green one mostly wrops around the bread;
"Tennessee Lace'" I take to ride behind'.
Hither and yon right smart of them have fled.
Inside the chest I keep my choicest kind —
"Pine-Bloom," and "St. Ann's Robe" (of hickory
brown),
"Star of the East" (that yaller's fading
down!).
The Rose? I wove hit courting, long ago, —
Not Simon, though he's proper kind of heart —
His name was Hugh—the fever
laid him low —
I allus keep that kiver set apart.
"Rose of the Valley," he would laugh and say,
"The kiver's favoring your face today!"
The OutlookAnn Cobb(Of the Settlement School, Hindman, Knott County, Kentucky.)
WHOA, ZEBE, WHOA
Saddle me up the Zebra Dun —
Whoa, Zebe, whoa!
Double-cinch the son of a gun —
Whoa, till I bridle you, whoa!
Foot in the stirrup, straddle him quick —
Pitch and squeal and buck and kick —
Take your gait or the spurs will prick,
Lope along, you Zebra Dun.
The boys are off for town tonight —
It's a-riding, Zebra Dun!
Playing poker and a-getting tight —
Sift along, O Zebra Dun!
Bunch of girls at Brown's Hotel
Knows the steps, and dances well —
Rattlesnake Pete and his fiddle —
Lope along, O Zebra Dun!
Lights of the town are a-shining clear —
Run, you Zebra Dun!
Last four weeks seems like a year —
Run, Zebe, run!
Yip, yip, yi-yi,
yi-yi!
Run, you old
stiff-kneed grasshopper,
You spiral-spined
jackrabbit, you!
A-ho,
whoopee!
Brown's Hotel we're bound to see,
Swing them girls at the dance party,
One-and-twenty on a moonlight spree —
A-ho,
whoopee!
Whoa, Zebe, whoa!
Whoa, till I hitch you,
whoa!
Poetry, A Magazine of VerseEdwin Ford Piper
CIRCUS
I
SIDE SHOW
Her scant skirt spreads above her knees.
Her hands lie folded in her lap.
She looks ahead, and does not shrink
To see the mixed crowd nudge and gape,
While dirty men with roving eyes
Press close and whisper, "Look!
Tattooed wherever you can see!
Say, she's a walkin' pitcher-book!"
Madonna pricked upon her back
Complacently she lets them view,
And on the calf of one bare leg,
Christ crucified — tattooed in
blue.
II
GRAND ENTRY
Monsters in trousers baggy and grey,
With harness of scarlet and brass,
Trunk looped to tail in rhythmic array —
A frieze on a temple of Asia —pass
Solemnly round the tan-bark track.
The breasts of the sulky girl in red
Perched on the leading elephant's back,
Shake to the lurch of his ponderous
tread.
Then follows a bamboo palanquin,
Borne by the camels' shambling strength.
The fringes slap as, jolted within,
A tawdry sultana reclines at full length.
Forty dull clowns hobble awkwardly by.
"Hey! That's my mother!" one leers.
He points at the charmer, and then at his eye,
And grins through his painted black
tears.
III
RING-MASTER
Tethered to the canvas top
Undulating shadows writhe —
Snaky flags that seem alive.
"What an awful way to drop!
Look how high it is up there."
— "Shucks! They never get a fall."
"Who's that man-in glossy black
Satin knee-pants, and the coat
Red as pepper, on his back?"
— "He's Ring-Master. Hear um bawl,
'All eyes on the center
ring!
Attention, please! Attention
all!'"
IV
THE WATCHER AT THE ROPES
Stretching her toes until they kiss
The dizzy roof on her upward swing,
Blindfolded, Marie makes a spring
In faultless curve above the abyss.
The man on another frail trapeze,
Clipping the bar with supple knees,
Catches her ankles. The nervous crowd
Closes its eyes or gasps aloud,
Watching from very far below,
Hypnotized, as to and fro,
The pendulum swings, till they leap apart.
A mother's hand goes to her heart.
A boy in uniform shouts or drones,
"Soda-pop, candy and ice-cream
cones!"
Attendants slouch by the ropes and wait.
Unseen among them, watches Fate —
His lips move, counting — his deep eyes stare
Upward at Marie, Queen of the Air.
Reedy' s MirrorVine McCasland
AUCTION: ANDERSON GALLERIES
"Lot 65: John Keats to Fanny Brawne
A beauty, gentlemen, and in the
best
Condition. Four leaves, scarcely
pressed.
What am I bid? Five hundred ... Five ... Come on.
Who'll make it Six? Six hundred.... "(Pale and drawn,
I dreamed forever in a
sweet unrest
Of your warm, lucent,
million-pleasured breast)
"Six hundred ... Now Six fifty ... Are you
done?"
"Seven ... A half ... Did I hear eight? ... Eight ...
Eight ...
Who'll make it Nine?" (Would that I could survive
The horrors of a brutal world. I
hate
All men and women,
saving one, alive.)
"Nine fifty ... Going ... Sorry, sir; too late.
Sold to this party for Nine sixty
five."
The New RepublicLouis Untermeyer
THE LAWYERS KNOW TOO MUCH
The lawyers, Bob, know too much.
They are chums of the books of old John Marshall.
They know it all, what a dead hand Wrote,
A stiff dead hand and its knuckles crumbling,
The bones of the fingers a thin white ash.
The lawyers know
a dead man's thoughts too
well.
In the heels of the higgling lawyers, Bob,
Too many slippery ifs and buts and howevers,
Too much hereinbefore provided whereas,
Too many doors to go in and out of.
When the lawyers are through
What is there left, Bob?
Can a mouse nibble at it
And find enough to fasten a tooth
in?
Why is there always a secret
singing
When a lawyer cashes in?
Why does a hearse horse snicker
Hauling a lawyer away?
The work of a bricklayer goes to the blue.
The knack of a mason outlasts a moon.
The hands of a plasterer hold a room together.
The land of a farmer wishes him back again.
Singers of songs and dreamers of
plays
Build a house no wind blows over.
The lawyers — tell me why a hearse horse snickers
hauling a lawyer's bones.
The Dial.Carl Sandburg
THE CIVIL ENGINEERS
They stormed the forts of Nature,
And marched with blast and drill
On her bulwark cliffs and sapping swamps, —
Her strength against their skill.
Though her torrents twisted their bridges
Like the horns of a mountain ram
And burst like a hungry tiger
Through the buttressed walls of their
dam;
They threw out new spans like spiders,
And copied the beaver's art,
And broke the desert's slumber
With bloom in its rainless heart.
They tunneled her snowy shoulders,
Or wriggled up like a snake,
And laced her with iron girders
Like a martyr lashed to a stake.
And clove her spine-like ridges
From isthmus shore to shore,
And plied their mighty dredges
As she let the landslides pour,
She was harsh as a fickle mistress,
And stern as an angered god,
Then soft as the lap of a mother,
As they conquered her great untrod.
From the circles around the Arctics
To Cancer and Capricorn,
From the yellow streams of China
To the base of the Matterhorn;
They have vanquished their untamed Mother;
Though she thunders volcanic guns,
They force her to do their bidding,
Like masterful rebel sons.
Contemporary VersePhoebe Hoffman
INFERENTIAL
Although I saw before me there the face
Of one whom I had honored among men
The least, and on regarding him again
Would not have had him in another place,
He fitted with an unfamiliar grace
The coffin where I could not see him then
As I had seen him and appraised him when
I deemed him unessential to the race.
For there was more of him than what I saw
And there was on me more than the old awe
That is the common genius of the dead.
I might as well have heard him: "Never mind;
If some of us were not so far behind,
The rest of us were not so far
ahead."
The DialEdwin Arlington Robinson
RESEMBLANCE
I have on mine no likeness
To your fairy queenlike face,
No sign in all my body
Of any of your grace.
I might have been a changeling,
As well have been a son,
As to grow up your daughter
And look like anyone.
But where your two breasts parted
A small mark darkened you,
And over my heart's beating
I have the same scar too.
A little seal and golden,
Whereby it shall be known
That you have shaped and borne me
And stamped me as your
own!
Contemporary VerseWinifred Welles
THE LONG HILL
I must have passed the crest a while ago
And now I am going down.
Strange to have crossed the crest and not to know
—
But the brambles were always catching the hem of
my gown.
All the morning I thought how proud it would be
To stand there straight as a queen
—
Wrapped in the wind and the sun, with the world under
me.
But the air was dull, there was little I
could have seen.
It was nearly level along the beaten track
And the brambles caught in my gown
But it's no use now to think of turning back,
The rest of the way will be only going
down.
Poetry, A Magazine of VerseSara Teasdale
THREE QUATRAINS
THE CUP
She said, "Lift high the cup!"
Of her arm's weariness she gave no
sign,
But, smiling, raised it up
That none might see or guess it held no
wine.
FORGIVE ME NOT!
Forgive me not! Hate me and I shall
know
Some of Love's fire still burns within your
breast!
Forgiveness finds its home in hearts at rest,
On dead volcanoes only lies the
snow.
THE ROSE
One deep red rose I dropped into his grave,
So small a thing to give so great a
friend!
Yet well he knew it was my heart I gave
And must fare on without it to the
end.
Harper's MagazineLilla Cabot Perry
I, WHO FADE WITH THE LILACS
I, who fade with the lilacs
And with the roses fade,
Am sharing this hour with them
Conferring in'the shade.
Life has not left the wonder
With which it first began
To make Pierrot a poet,
In making him a man.
It has not made a rainbow,
In all the sorry years,
But was a sailing glory
Upon a sea of tears.
Somehow life leaves one stranded
On shores too near or far,
Hitching, forever hitching
Ships —shallops to a
star.
New York Sun Books and the Book World William Griffith
DUST
What is dust?
Ashes of love, charred letters, faded heliotrope,
Rose petals fallen from a dead hand,
Spiders, bats, deserted houses, crumbling
citadels,
And wheel ruts where vanished armies have
passed.
Is that all?
Oh, dust is sun and laughter,
Circuses, parasols, preening pigeons,
Lovers picnicking by the roadside,
And ragamuffins tumbling in the warm lanes.
Dust is rainbow webs caught in sweet, hot smelling
hedges,
And it is dust that keeps my eyes from being blinded by
the stars!
Contemporary VerseDorothy Anderson
SONG IN THE KEY OF AUTUMN
We are walking with the month
To a quiet place.
See, only here and there the gentians stand!
Tonight the homing loon
Will fly across the moon,
Over the tired land.
We were the idlers and the sowers,
The watchers in the sun,
The harvesters who laid away the grain.
Now there's a sign in every vacant tree,
Now there's a hint in every stubble field,
Something we must not forget
When the blossoms fly again.
Give me your hand!
There were too many promises in June.
Human-tinted buds of spring
Told only half the truth.
The withering leaf beneath our feet,
That wrinkled apple overhead,
Say more than vital boughs have said
When we went walking
In this growing place.
There is something in this hour
More honest than a flower
Or laughter from a sunny face.
The Century MagazineScudder Middleton
EXILE
I have made grief a gorgeous, queenly thing,
And worn my melancholy with an air.
My tears were big as stars to deck my hair,
My silence stunning as a sapphire ring.
Oh, more than any light the dark could fling
A glamour over me to make me rare,
Better than any color I could wear
The pearly grandeur that the shadows bring.
What is there left to joy for such as I?
What throne can dawn upraise for me who found
The dusk so royal and so rich a one?
Laughter will whirl and whistle on the sky —
Far from this riot I shall stand uncrowned,
Disrobed, bereft, an outcast in the
sun.
The North American ReviewWinifred Welles
EXILED
Searching my heart for its true sorrow,
This is the thing I find to be:
That I am weary of words and people,
Sick of the city, wanting the sea;
Wanting the sticky, salty sweetness
Of the strong wind and shattered
spray,
Wanting the loud sound and the soft sound
Of the big surf that breaks all
day.
Always before about my dooryard,
Marking the reach of the winter
sea,
Rooted in sand and dragging driftwood,
Straggled the purple wild sweet
pea.
Always I climbed the wave at morning,
Shook the sand from my shoes at
night,
That now am caught beneath big buildings,
Stricken with noise, confused with
light.
If I could hear the green piles groaning.
Under the windy, wooden piers,
See once again the bobbing barrels,
And the black sticks that fence the
weirs;
If I could see the weedy mussels
Crusting the wrecked and rotting
hulls,
Hear once again the hungry crying
Overhead, of the wheeling
gulls;
Feel once again the shanty straining
Under the turning of the tide,
Fear once again the rising freshet,
Dread the bell in the fog outside,
I should be happy! — that was happy
All day long on the coast of Maine.
I have a need to hold and handle
Shells and anchors and ships
again.
I should be happy, that am happy.
Never at all since I came here.
I am too long away from water;
I have a need of water
near.
Ainslee's MagazineEdna St. Vincent Millay
THE WORKER
Be quiet, worker in my breast:
You hurt me, pounding so!
Day and night your hammer rings.
What you build, I do not
know.
I am tired by your effort.
I would like to be as still
As the solitary sheep
Scattered on the sunny
hill.
Stop your mad, insistent beating!
Be less eager and more wise!
You are building nothing lasting.
Let me rest and close my
eyes.
Harper's Magazine Scudder Middleton
A NATURE-LOVER PASSES
(In certain parts of the World the custom
still prevails of telling the bees that a member of the family has
died.)
Bees, go tell the things he treasured —
Oak and grass and viole —
That although his life was measured
He is with them yet!
Tell the wild rose and the clover
That the earth has made him over!
Tell the lilting, loitering stream
He is sharer of its dream!
Whisper to the April wood
Of his blending in its mood!
Tell the wind his spirit flows
In whatever path it blows!
Tell the thrush it draws its art
From the rapture of his heart!
Bees, to his green shelter bring
All of earth's bright gossiping:
Tales of feather, flower, or fur;
Sap upmounting; wings astir!
Now we may no more attend him,.
Bid his loved wild things befriend
him!
Harper's MagazineDaniel Henderson
HE DID NOT KNOW
He did not know that he was dead;
He walked along the crowded street,
Smiled, tipped his hat, nodded his head
To his friends he chanced to
meet.
And yet they passed him quietly by
With an unknowing, level stare;
They met him with an abstract eye
As if he were the air.
"Some sorry thing has come to pass,"
The dead man thought; he hurried
home,
And found his wife before her glass,
Dallying with a comb.
He found his wife all dressed in black;
He kissed her mouth, he stroked her
head.
"Men act so strange since I've come back
From over there," he said.
She spoke no word; she only smiled.
But now he heard her say his name,
And saw her study, grief-beguiled,
His picture in a frame.
Then he remembered that black night
And the great shell-burst, wide and
red,
The sudden plunging into light;
And knew that he was
dead.
The Century MagazineHarry Kemp
OVERHEAD
When you and I are laid away
In little boxes under grass,
What will the townsmen say of us
When overhead they smile and
pass?
"She was a lovely, quiet thing
Who kept her house so neat and gay.
She was as much in love with life
As she is satisfied today."
"He was the brightest man we had;
He kept us laughing till he died.
It seemed he only had to speak,
And we would chuckle at his
side."
Then you and I will rap the boards
And call in language of the dead —
But there'll be nothing we can do
To stop that chatter
overhead.
Harper's Magazine Scudder Middleton
TO E.T.
I slumbered with your poems on my breast
Spread open as I dropped them half read through
Like dove wings on a figure on a tomb
To see, if, in a dream they brought of
you,
I might not have the chance I missed in life
Through some delay, and call you to your face
First soldier, and then poet, and then both,
Who died a soldier-poet of your race.
I meant, you meant, that nothing should remain
Unsaid between us, brother, and this remained —
And one thing more that was not then to say:
The Victory for what it lost and gained.
You went to meet the shell's embrace of fire
On Vimy Ridge; and when you fell that day
The war seemed over more for you than me,
But now for me than you — the other way.
How over, though, for even me who knew
The foe thrust back unsafe beyond the Rhine,
If I was not to speak of it to you
And see you pleased once more with words of
mine?
The Yale Review Robert Frost
THE YOUNG DEAD
Ah, how I pity the young dead who gave
All that they were, and might become, that we
With tired eyes should watch this perfect sea
Re-weave its patterning of silver wave
Round scented cliffs of arbutus and bay.
No more shall any rose along the way,
The myrtled way that wanders to the shore,
Nor jonquil-twinkling meadow any more,
Nor the warm lavender that takes the spray,
Smell only of sea-salt and the sun,
But, through recurring seasons, every one
Shall speak to us with lips the darkness closes,
Shall look at us with eyes that missed the roses,
Clutch us with hands whose work was just begun,
Laid idle now beneath the earth we tread
—
And always we shall walk with the young dead. —
Ah, how I pity the young dead, whose eyes
Strain through the sod to see these perfect
skies,
Who feel the new wheat springing in their stead,
And the lark singing for them
overhead!
The Yale ReviewEdith Wharton
THE HOUSE AT EVENING
(In Memory of T. F. B.)
Across the school-ground it would start
To light my eyes, that yellow gleam —
The window of the flaming heart,
The chimney of the tossing dream.
The scuffed and wooden porch of Heaven,
The voice that came like a caress,
The warm kind hands that once were given
My carelessness.
It was a house you would not think
Could hold such sacraments in things
Or give the wild heart meat and drink
Or give the stormy soul high wings
Or chime small voices to such mirth
Or crown the night with stars and flowers
Or make upon this quaking earth
Such steady hours.
Yet, that in storm it stood secure,
And in the cold was warm with love,
Shall its similitude endure
Past trophies that men weary of,
Where two were out of fortune's reach,
Building great empires round a name
And ushering into casual speech
Dim worlds aflame.
The Yale ReviewWilliam Rose Benét
HER WAY
(In Memory of T. F. B.)
You loved the hay in the meadow,
Flowers at noon,
The high cloud's long shadow,
Honey of June,
The flaming woodways tangled
With Fall on the hill,
The towering night star-spangled
And winter-still.
And you loved firelight faces
The hearth, the home —
Your mind on golden traces,
London or Rome —
On quaintly-colored spaces
Where heavens glow
With his quaint saints embraces —
Angelico.
In cloister and highway
(Gold of God's dust!)
And many an elfin byway
You put your trust —
A crock and a table,
Love's end of day,
And light of a storied stable
Where kings must pray.
Somewhere there is a village
For you and me,
Hayfield, hearth, and tillage —
Where can it be?
Prayers when birds awake,
Daily bread,
Toil for His sunlit sake
Who raised us dead.
With this in mind you moved
Through love and pain.
Hard though the long road proved,
You turned again
With a heart that knew its trust
Not ill-bestowed.
With this you light the dust
That clouds my road.
The Yale ReviewWilliam Rose Benét
TO THE DEAD FAVOURITE OF LIU CH'E
The sound of rustling silk is stilled,
With solemn dust the court is filled,
No footfalls echo on the floor;
A thousand leaves stop up her door,
Her little golden drink is spilled.
Her painted fan no more shall rise
Before her black barbaric eyes —
The scattered tea goes with the leaves.
And simply crossed her yellow sleeves;
And every day a sunset dies.
Her birds no longer coo and call,
The cherry blossoms fade and fall,
Nor ever does her shadow stir,
But stares forever back at her,
And through her runs no sound at all.
And bending low, my falling tears
Drop fast against her little ears,
And yet no sound comes back, and I
Who used to play her tenderly
Have touched her not a thousand
years.
The DialDjuna Barnes
THE CURSE
On the cord dead hangs our sister,
She of the wondrous lily feet.
They have blasted our fragrant flower —
She shall curse them as is meet!
Hold the broom in her dead hand —
Raise her up until she stand.
Backward, forward, sweep the room!
Wealth and happiness and long life
Sweeps she with avenging broom
From the house where she was wife.
Backward, forward, sweep the broom
Sweeping doom, sweeping doom!
Now the gods will surely punish —
Surely pity the young bride.
She was like a willow blossom,
It was springtime when she died.
Hold the broom in her dead hand —
Raise her up until she stand!
She was always flower-gay
Till they broke her smiling heart.
In this house she would not stay —
Take her up— let us depart.
Poetry, a Magazine of VerseElizabeth J. Coatsworth
PLACE FOR A THIRD
Nothing to say to all those marriages!
She had made three herself to three of his.
The score was even for them, three to three.
But come to die she found she cared so much:
She thought of children in a burial row;
Three children in a burial row were sad.
One man's three women in a burial row —
Somehow made her impatient with the man.
And so she said to Laban, "You have done
A good deal right: don't do the last thing wrong.
Don't make me lie with those two other
women."
Laban said, No, he would not make her lie
With any one but that she had a mind to.
If that was how she felt, of course, he said.
She went her way. But Laban having caught
This glimpse of lingering person in Eliza,
And anxious to make all he could of it
With something he remembered in himself,
Tried to think how he could exceed his promise,
And give good measure to the dead, though
thankless.
If that was how she felt, he kept repeating.
His first thought under pressure was a grave
In a new boughten grave plot by herself,
Under he didn't care how great a stone:
He'd sell a yoke of steers to pay for it.
And weren't there special cemetery flowers,
That once grief sets to growing, grief may rest:
The flowers will go on with grief awhile,
And no one seem neglecting or neglected?
A prudent grief will not despise such aids.
He thought of evergreen and everlasting.
And then he had a thought worth many of these.
Somewhere must be the grave of the young boy
Who married her for playmate more than helpmate,
And sometimes laughed at what it was between them
How would she like to sleep her last with him?
Where was his grave? Did Laban know his
name?
He found the grave a town or two away,
The headstone cut with John, Beloved Husband,
Beside it room reserved, the say a sister's,
A never-married sister's of that husband,
Whether Eliza would be welcome there.
The dead was bound to silence: ask the sister.
So Laban saw the sister, and, saying nothing
Of where Eliza wanted not to
lie,
And who had thought to lay her with her first
love,
Begged simply for the grave. The sister's face
Fell all in wrinkles of responsibility.
She wanted to do right. She'd have to
think.
Laban was old and poor, yet seemed to care;
And she was old and poor — but she cared, too.
They sat. She cast one dull, old look at him,
Then turned him out to go on other errands
She said he might attend to in the village,
While she made up her mind how much she cared —
And how much Laban cared — and why he cared
(She made shrewd eyes to see where he came
in).
She'd looked Eliza up her second time,
A widow at her second husband's grave,
And offered her a home to rest awhile.
Before she went the poor man's widow's way,
Housekeeping for the next man out of wedlock.
She and Eliza had been friends through all.
Who was she to judge marriage in a world
Whose Bible's so confused up in marriage counsel?
'The sister had not come across this Laban;
A decent product of life's ironing-out;
She must not keep him waiting. Time would press
Between the death day and the funeral day.
So when she saw him coming in the street
She hurried her decision to be ready
To meet him with his answer at the door.
Laban had known about what it would be
From the way she had set her poor old mouth,
To do, as she had put it, what was right.
She gave it through the screen door closed between
them
"No, not with John. There wouldn't be no sense.
Eliza's had too many other men."
Laban was forced to fall back on his plan
To buy Eliza a plot to lie alone in:
Which gives him for himself a choice of lots
When his time comes to die and settle
down.
Harper's MagazineRobert Frost
LITTLE CARIBOU MAKES BIG TALK
Boo-shoo! Boo-shoo!
Me, Ah'-dek-koons, I mak'-um big talk. Ho!
Me, ol' man; I'm got-um sick in knee
In rainy wedder w'en I'm walk. Ugh!
Me, lak moose w'at's ol',
I'm drop-urn plenty toot'!
Yet I am big man! Ho!
An' I am talk big! Ho!
Hi-yee! Blow lak moose
ol' man!
Ho!
Ho!
Hi-yi! Little Caribou
him talk
Lak O'-mah-ka-kee dose
Bullfrog;
Big mout', big
belly,
No can
fight!
Ugh! Close mout', young crazy buck!
You stop council-talk,
You go 'way council;
Sit wit' squaw.
You lak pollywog tad-pole:
No can jump-um over little piece mud;
Can only shake-um tail lak
crazy-dam-fool!
Keetch'-ie O'-gi-ma', big Presh-i-den',
He got-um plenty t'oughts in head, good
t'oughts;
Me, Little Caribou,
I'm got-um plenty t'oughts in head, good
t'oughts.
Yet Eenshun Agent Myers all-tam' saying:
"Ah-dek-koons he crazy ol' fool!"
Ugh! He crazy ol'
fool!
Keetch-ie O-gi-ma long tam' ago was say in
treaty:
"All de Cheebway should be farmer;
All will get from gov'ment fine allotment —
One hundred-sixty acre each." Ho!
Ho! Eenshun scratch-um treaty!
W'ats come treaty? Hah!
Eenshun got-um hondred-sixty acre,
But go-um too much little pieces;
Pieces scattered over lake
Lak leaves she's blow by wind.
In tamarack swamp by Moose-tail Bay
He got-um forty acre piece.
In muskeg and in rice-field,
On Lake of Cut-foot Sious, ten mile away,
He got-um forty acre more.
In sand an' pickerel weed,
On Bowstring Lake, she's forty mile away,
He got-um forty acre more.
Hondred mile away, on Lac La Croix,
W'ere lumber-man is mak' big dam
For drive-um log — an' back-um up water
All over Eenshun allotment land —
He got-um forty acre more, all under lake!
How can be?'
Got-um land all over lake!
Got-um land all under lake!
For Eenshun be good farmer
Eenshun should be good for walking under water!
Should be plough hees land wit' clam-drag!
Should be gadder crops wit' fish-net
For Eenshun be good farmer
Eenshun should be fish!
Ugh!
I have said it!
Ho!
Hi! Plenty-big
talk!
Ho! Ho!
Ho!
Poetry, A Magazine of VerseLew Sarett
THE CARRYING OF THE GHOST
A Mes-qua-kie Ceremony
[The Friends and the Mourners chant responsively.]
[The Friends and the Mourners chant responsively.]
Let the ghost of the brave be carried away.
Let the ghost of the brave be carried away.
Mourners, look up.
Fasters, look up.
You who have shed your blood, look up.
You whose tears were not enough to shed,
Look up, look up.
We cannot look
up.
We cannot look
up.
A moon ago he died.
A moon ago died the dutiful son.
A moon ago died the faithful husband.
A moon ago died the brave, the friend.
His ghost is cold.
His ghost is naked.
Let the ghost of the brave be carried away.
Mourners, look up.
Fasters, look up.
We cannot look
up.
We cannot look
up.
Mourners, fasters,
Where is his ghost?
In the Happy Hunting Ground
Pursues he the game?
Fights he in company with ancient warriors?
Fights he in company with Hot Hand?
Fights he in' company with Cold Hand?
Fights he with the ancient brave Mes-qua-kies?
Mourners, fasters,
Where is his ghost?
Is he in the Happy Hunting Ground?
Is he in the Happy Hunting Ground?
Ai, ai! Ai, ai! Ai,
ai!
Ai, ai! Ai, ai! Ai,
ai!
Why is he not in the Happy Hunting Ground?
Why is he not in the Happy Hunting Ground?
Mourners, fasters,
Have you not sent him?
Mourners and fasters,
Befriend him, befriend him.
Mourners and fasters,
Befriend his ghost.
Why is he not in the Happy Hunting Ground?
Mourners and fasters, why does his ghost tarry?
Why is it thin and cold and naked?
He is so
loved
We cannot send
him.
He is so
loved
We cannot let him
go.
Ai, ai! Ai, ai! Ai,
ai!
He stands outside
The circle of the ghost-fire,
He stands outside
In the cold darkness.
His soul is naked.
He is cold, outside
In the cold darkness.
He fears the demons
In the cold darkness,
Lest they eat his soul
In the cold darkness.
Mourners and fasters,
Befriend his ghost.
He is son: we cannot send
him.
He is brother: we cannot send
him.
He is husband: we cannot send
him.
He is friend: we cannot send
him.
We cannot send
him.
We cannot let him
go.
If we send
him,
He comes back no
more.
If he
goes,
He comes back no
more.
He is lonely and friendless.
He has no companions.
He sees his friends
By the smoky ghost-fire,
But they cannot see him.
He hears their voices
Praise him by the ghost-fire
But they cannot hear him
When he replies.
Thin is his voice
They cannot hear it.
Send him to the Happy Hunting Ground,
Where dwell his ancestors,
Send him to the Happy Hunting Ground,
Where dwell Hot Hand and Cold Hand.
Long is the
ghost-road:
No one returns by
it.
Long is the
ghost-road:
He comes back no
more.
Long is the ghost-road: no one returns by it.
Long is the ghost-road: but all go over it.
Long is the ghost-road: you will go over it.
You will go over it, if you will send
him.
Long is the
ghost-road:
No one returns by
it.
Long is the
ghost-road:
He comes back no
more.
He wanders in the cold, beyond the ghost-fire.
He picks up crumbs like a wolf in the cold.
He has no horse: he can hunt no game.
Long is the ghost-road,
But all go over it.
Long is the ghost-road.
You will go over it.
You will go over it
If you will send him.
Yes, we will send him,
For we shall follow
him.
Yes, we will send him,
For we shall not lose
him.
Yes, we will send him:
We shall all follow after
him.
We shall all follow after
him,
Wise, good, loving.
Yes, we will send him:
Make ready the horse,
The new clothes, the
feast.
They will send him, they will send him,
The mourners will send him,
Make ready the horse, the new clothes, the feast.
They will send him.
They will send him.
And they will follow after.
Call the ghost carriers.
Call the ghost carriers.
Bring no more wood to the smoky ghost-fire:
The ghost goes on the long ghost-road.
Bring no more food to the smoky ghost-fire:
The ghost goes on the long ghost-road.
Let the men who sit by the smoky ghost-fire
No more praise him that he may hear.
Let the men who sit by the smoky ghost-fire
Rise up now and help to make ready
Rise up and make ready.
Make ready,
Make ready,
Rise up and make ready.
The ghost goes on the long
ghost-road.
Poetry, A Magazine of VerseNelson Antrim Crawford
ELEGY BEFORE DEATH
There will be rose and rhododendron
When you are dead and underground;
Still will be heard from white Syringas
Heavy with bees, a sunny
sound;
Still will the tamaracks be raining.
After the rain has ceased, and
still
Will there be robbins in the stubble,
Brown sheep upon the warm, green
hill.
Spring will not all, nor autumn falter,
Nothing will know that you are
gone,
Saving alone some sullen plowland
None but yourself sets foot upon;
Saving the mayweed and the pigweed
Nothing will know that you are dead
—
These, and perhaps a useless wagon
Standing beside some tumbled
shed.
Oh, there will pass with your great passing
Little of beauty not your own;
Only the light from common water,
Only the grace from simple
stone!
Ainslee' s MagazineEdna St. Vincent Millay
O, my friend,
What fitting word can I say?
You, my chum,
My companion of infinite talks,
My inspiration,
My guide,
Through whom I saw myself at best;
You, the light of this western country.
You, a great richness.
A glory,
A charm,
Product and treasure of these States.
Bill, I knew you had gone.
I was walking down into town this morning,
And amid the hurry of cars and the flash of this July
sun,
You came to me.
At least the intimation came to me;
And may it be you,
That somewhere I can laugh and talk long hours with you
again.
Reedy's MirrorEdgar Lee Masters
BEAUTY'S BURDEN
I am weighed down beneath a clustering load
Of fragrances, rich Sounds and lovely shapes,
Like one who toils along a doubtful road
With the glad wealth of purple-glinting grapes.
I seem to stagger from an ancient city
With golden armor, swords, fierce jewels, rings,
—
Treasure that stirs deep memories with the pity
Of fate-foiled heroes and forgotten kings.
And then I dream I bear a love-ripe maiden,
Whose folded eyelids flutter; and I thirst
To touch her throat, her lips, till,
rapture-laden,
It seems at length as if my heart would burst.
Yet, Beauty-faint, I would not lose one
shade,
Or note or scent that Beauty's hand hath
made.
The FarmerCharles Wharton Stork
STORM AND SUN
O Love, now the herded billows over the holy
plain
Of the trampled sea move thunderously,
and cast
Their wrath on the dark shore — let us set out
again,
Let us make seaward, and be gone at
last.
Into the choiring, clashing, wild waste of waters
strown
Around us, — forward — forward —, and
leave behind
The little frets and the fevers, just we two
alone,
Heart-free, as once in days long out of
mind!
Forget the city and all its troubles, leave
forever
Our dusty ways! The Eternal 'round us
rolled
Shall wash us white of the little sins and fears that
sever,
Lave us, and leave us lovers as of old —
Lovers as once in golden days gone by, till
sorrow
Fall from us like a robe, the
martyrdom
Of life on the daily rack: there shall be no
Tomorrow,
Nor Yesterday, but heaven and ocean.
—Sweetheart, come
And on the swelling pillow of the Unbounded lean
Your cheek, all fiery now — O let us
press
Forward, the changeful furrows of the flashing foam
between,
Our glowing bodies into the
Loveliness!
The waves shatter, the billows break us, the sullen
wrath
Of the surf beats down our foreheads."
Line on line
Rises the majesty of the sea to Oppose our path
With tingling bodies through the stinging
brine;
But in our jubilant breasts the embattled life at
bay
Exults fiercely for joy, the waves cry
out
And shout in answering joy, the salt and savage
spray
Showers our shoulders in the exuberant
bout,
Where we press forward, laughing for lusty love, and
the hollows
Receive us and rise, the foam of the
breaker's crest
Unfolds like a flower and dies of its kiss, and
subsides, and follows,
Laughing and loving, where our limbs have
pressed:
Till in the lustrous shadow of the last wave before
us
We bow, and from the rolling billow's
might
Lift glimmering eyelids up, while hearts and lips in
chorus
Mingle with winds and waters their
delight.
Far — far — where the sea-bird sinks weary wings at
last
Before the wrath of the wings of the
wind, the sea
Makes moan, the inconsolable, pale waters are
aghast,
And shudder with dread of their own
immensity.
They murmur with one another, the voice of their vast
prayer
Sinks down in supplication, and the
sleep
Of the Supreme is stirred to whispers everywhere
—
The dark and divine sorrows of the
Deep.
Where the heads of the sea were holy and lifted in
wrath divine
Now broods the silence, heaven holds its
breath, —
Where the feet of the winds made music far out to the
lone sea-line, —
The rapture and awe and silence as of
death!
Hark — how the lonely sea-bird screams above the
surges
And inland reaches! Now, far out, we
roam
The desert and dumb vast of the dread sea that
urges
Our fitful course far out beyond the
foam,
Toward the most pallid rim of cloudy noonday
steering
Steadily, while the fluent glooms and
grave
Lap us and lift, repulse, and pause—the wild and
veering
Will of the loving and reluctant
wave.
The sombre and immense breast of the huge sea
Lifts in long lines of beauty, the
supreme
Bosom with its vast love rises resistlessly,
And lapses in long lines into its
dream.
Lone to the last marge — lone — lone — lone —
And void to where the huddled waters
crowd
The brim —along the floor of heaven's darkened
throne
Moves, like a ghost, the shadow of a
cloud.
Shadow and light pass over shifting, shine and
shade
Vanish and veer, upon the chilly
rim
Kindle like crowns the cloud-crests along the east
arrayed
And swords of flame, like swords of the
seraphim.
The floors of the sea catch fire, the eye of the
world's light
Dilates, and into a glory of glittering
gold
Break the pale greens and purples; the sun in heaven's
height
Unveils himself for all men to
behold
And all the world is a-riot, behind us and
before,
With fire and color — the heavens roll
back their gloom,
From zone to zone, from the zenith to the everlasting
floor,
Reaches one resonant and radiant room
—
Light! —Light! The astounded, far fields of ocean
shine
Sheer gold and shimmering amber: where we
take
The lips of the wave with laughter your eyes are turned
to mine,
Sweetheart, your eyes that burn for
beauty's sake.
They tremble with happy tears and little words
unspoken
Trouble your lips; dumbly, dumbly we know
Something starry and strange, that the world's wheel
has broken,
Come back to us out of the long-ago.
Put out your hand. O cleave the clasp of the close
wave, turning
Its fire to flowers! Put out your hand,
and move
Forward into the radiant far reaches 'round us
burning,
Darling, as once in the old days of
love.
Our hearts drink the wrath and the wonder, the breath
of the boundless spaces
Hallows our foreheads, the exceeding
might
Of moving waters around us is music, and on our
faces
The glory of God is shed, His holy
light!
Reedy's MirrorJohn Hall Wheelock
LINES FOR THE HOUR
If what we fought for seems not
worth the fighting,
And if to win seems in
the end to fail,
Know that the vision lives beyond
all blighting
And every struggle
rends another veil.
The tired hack, the cynic
politician,
Can dim but cannot make us lose
the goal,
Time moves with measured step upon
her mission,
Knowing the slow
mutations of the soul.
New York Evening PostHamilton Fish Armstrong
ON THE MANTELPIECE
Audi Alteram Pattern
The roses and vines and the tall, straight, delicate
poplars,
Growing about a beautiful old sixteenth-century French
château,
One clear morning of autumn were strung with silver
ropes of spider-web,
And the cold, green grass with its butterfly
leaves
Was rimmed with white dew.
From the tops of the poplars could have been seen the
fields,
Far away in the sunlight, sere and brown like a
flooring —
Out there sere and brown with the last of their summer
music.
A valet with a duster in his hand and on his forearm a
dust cloth —
He may have been Swiss, for he wore a loin-cloth of
forest green
Entered a front room of the château and suddenly stood
perfectly still there,
Listening amid the decorous morning silence of the
château
To a loud, nasty, little foreign noise coming from
somewhere.
He uttered a few words, straight as the poplars but far
from being so delicate.
Uttered them in a language of the Academy and of
Fabre,
Finding the language of Fabre adequate for what he had
to say regarding a bug,
Adding in the same language, "What are you doing there
under that rug?"
And forward he strode and gave a quick
Academic or dithyrambic or choric kick
At the loose beautiful old marble (perhaps)
brick.
And the Cricket on the Hearth,
For all its matutinal spontaneous mirth,
And without time for a sigh
That no poet was nigh
To see him die,
Was mashed — song and senses, back and belly —
Into unpotted cricket jelly.
And all the literary offspring of Boz,
Boz who despised your sentimentality
But doted on his own sentimentality
(As the rest of us) —
All the literary offspring of Boz
Who despise sentimentality about a Dresden
shepherdess
But dote on sentimentality about the toes of a cricket
—
The twentieth-century Bozzers,
Successors to those nineteenth-century ones
Who loved the domestic canary, and the owl if perched
on a bookcase,
And the pheasant With its young and its nest if well
arranged on a table —
Served sous cloche like
mushrooms,
The twentieth-century Bozzers, green and leafy with
genius
And ready to exude poetic gum at the bare mention of
the natural,
Laboring at the cult of the natural
And therefore never natural themselves
Because no cult is natural
But is a saturated solution of
self-consciousness,
All the Neo-Bozzers must have wailed aloud
At the sudden violent death
Of the Cricket on the Hearth —
A natural thing making natural music,
Having been caught in an altogether unnatural
place.
But the valet lifted the little Dresden shepherdess
from the mantelpiece
And dusted her tenderly and put her back in her
place,
As the valet before him had done,
As the valet after him would
dust her tenderly and put her back in her place.
But he held her awhile and at arm's length and looked
at her,
Smiled at her slippers and at the rose in her
hand,
Smiled at her hat tilted the way he had seen one,
Thought of some one he loved and slipped his arm about
her
In advance of the coming dusk and counted the days to
follow
Before she should have fine
things on her feet and her hair and her bosom.
Then more briskly he went on with his dusting,
The happier for the shepherdess as workman, lover and
man,
And none the worse for the happiness.
One day the Marquis, lord of the château and
gardens,
White and slight and slim like the poplars about his
birthplace,
Paused before the shepherdess, thinking of the
Marquise,
Seeing her as she was in the the days of' their youth
together —
Days now vanished forever beyond the brown fields of
autumn.
And all that day with a tenderer grace and an eye on
the lost
He watched her.
One day the Marquise, catching sight of the
shepherdess,
Suddenly thought of something laid away in its
freshness,
Folded still sweet and fresh in its antique
woodwork.
It she would send as a gift to the daughter of the
curé,
About to be married, a godchild.
One day the abbé, the scholar, brother of the
Marquis,
Walking gravely in the room with thoughts of his
history,
Wheeled angrily before the little Dresden shepherdess
on the mantelpiece,
Remembering Marie Antoinette and her acres of pastoral
playground
In the forest of Versailles near the Petit
Trianon.
Saw once more and more near him French follies and
revolution,
Went straight from the room and wrote more fiercely on
avenging Time,
Wrote on the work of France in the coming glory of the
world.
But all the valets mashed all the crickets
Singing in the morning stillness of the beautiful
sixteenth-century French château.
And none of them as he dusted the shepherdess laid her
in the nook of his arm
And carried her out to the fields and set her up there
with the crickets,
Thinking the fields the place for the Dresden
shepherdess.
And none of them caught a cricket and brought it back
to the château
And dusted it and put it on the mantelpiece.
Or under the mantelpiece as the natural place for a
cricket;
And none of the valets, if he could help it, killed a
cricket in the fields,
But stepped over it carefully if tangled in the grass
and unable to escape sudden death under his feet.
For the valets have nothing against the crickets in the
fields
Where nothing ends or defeats
The music of the earth —
Read Keats!
Glorious, undoctrined, undoctored spirit!
Who sang of the grasshopper
But who sang too of the Grecian urn on the
mantelpiece
(Or some equivalent of the mantelpiece) —
Sang of the sentimental, artificial scene on the
Grecian urn —
More sentimental, more artificial, than the little
Dresden shepherdess —
Sang of the artificial Greek heifer lowing at
artificial Greek skies.
Boundless poet of Nature
But poet also of all that is beautiful.
In the bounded spirit of man —
The most beautiful thing in that spirit being man's
art.
His art which is but little pictures
To bring near him the beauty that is far away or beyond
him.
Whether it be the little Dresden shepherdess on the
mantelpiece,
Or the Grecian urn on its mantelpiece
With its sentimental, artificial heifer lowing at the
skies
And at the mystery of sacrifice; or whether it be
The little wooden crucifix, held before dying
eyes,
As the hope that, closing on earth,
They will open in paradise.
The Bookman James Lane Allen
THE YEARBOOK OF AMERICAN POETRY
1920
1920
INDEX OF POETS AND POEMS
PUBLISHED IN AMERICAN MAGAZINES
August, 1919—July, 1920
PUBLISHED IN AMERICAN MAGAZINES
August, 1919—July, 1920
Anon. MOMENT MYSTICAL, The Pagan,April-May; PRELUDE TO A PANTOMIME, THE NATION, MAY 1.
Adams, Franklin P. SONG OF SYNTHETIC VIRILITY, Harper's Magazine, February; THE LAST LAUGH, HORACE: EPODE 15, Harper's Magazine, December, 1919.
Aiken, Conrad: ASPHALT, The Dial, June.
Aldington, Richard. AN EARTH GODDESS, AFTER THE ADVANCE, 1917, The North American Review, January.
Aldington, Mrs. Richard. THE ISLANDS, The North American Review, January.
Alexander, Hall. DREAMS FOR FREUDIAN ANALYSIS, The Pagan, April-May.
Alwood, Lister Raymond. AN INTERLUDE, The Detroit Sunday News, May 2; DAPHNE (FROM THE SPANISH OF RUBEN DARIO), The Detroit Sunday News, November 12, 1919; TO A LEAF, The Detroit Sunday News, May 9; WHITE BEES, The Detroit Sunday News, May 9.
Allen, Hervey. THE BLINDMAN, The North American Review, November, 1919.
Allen, James Lane. ON THE MANTELPIECE, The Bookman, September, 1919
Alling, Kenneth Slade. SNOW, Contemporary Verse, January; THAT STRANGE THING, Contemporary Verse, May; THREE FLOWERS, Contemporary Verse, May.
Anderson, Dorothy. A REVENANT, Contemporary Verse, November, 1919; DUST, Contemporary Verse, November, 1919. MOTLEY, Contemporary Verse, November, 1919
Anderson, Maxwell. WELCOME TO EARTH, Contemporary Verse, October, 1919; HYLAS, Contemporary Verse, April.
Anderson, Robert Gordon. LEADER OF MEN, Scribner's Magazine, February.
Andrews, Mary R. S. THE OLDEST ANGEL, Scribner's Magazine, November, 1919.
Armstrong, Hamilton Fish. LINES FOR THE HOUR, The N. Y. Evening Post, March 2.
Auerbach, Joseph S. INVOCATION OF REASON, The North American Review, November, 1919.
Auslander, Jacob. I COME SINGING, The New Republic, March 24.
Auslander, Joseph. PAINT ME THE GLORY OF A FURROWED FACE, The Sonnet, January-February.
Austin, Mary. BLACK PRAYERS, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, January; I DO NOT KNOW, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, January; NEW-MEXICAN LOVE SONG, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, January; THE EAGLE'S SONG, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, January; THE GRASS ON THE MOUNTAIN, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, January.
Avery, Claribel. THE WORDS, Contemporary Verse, January.
Baker, Helba. WITHOUT BEGINNING, Ainslee's Magazine, October, 1919.
Baker, Karle Wilson. ACORNS, The Yale Review, October, 1919; DEATH THE HIGHWAYMAN, Contemporary Verse, January; FAIRY FIRES, The Yale Review, October, 1919; GRAY DAYS, The Yale Review, October, 1919; I LOVE THE FRIENDLY FACES OF OLD SORROWS, Contemporary Verse, January; LEAVES, The Yale Review, October, 1919; MORNING SONG, Contemporary Verse, January; OVERHEAD TRAVELLERS, The Yale Review, October, 1919; STARS, The Yale Review, October, 1919.
Baldwin, Faith. MY SISTER'S SONS, Contemporary Verse, June.
Baldwin, Helen. THE BOATMEN ON THE YANG-TSE, The Century Magazine, April; THE CARTMAN OF KALGAN, The Century Magazine, April; THE LAST JOURNEYThe Century Magazine, April; THE SHEPHERD OF HANOERPAAR, The Century Magazine, April; THE WARRIOR'S BRIDE, The Century Magazine, April.
Balmont, Konstantin. EVENING FIELDS, Contemporary Verse, November, 1919
Barnes, Djuna.PASTORAL, The Dial, April; TO THE DEAD FAVORITE OF LIU CH'E, The Dial, April.
Barney, Danford. FINALE, Scribner's Magazine, December, 1919.
Bates, Katharine Lee. CEDAR HILL, The North American Review, May.
Barrett, Wilton Agnew. AN AWAKENING, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, December, 1919.
Baxter, Sylvester. SEA-CHANGE, The N .Y. Sun, March 21.
Bealle, Alfred Battle, THE ADVENTURER, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, May; GRASSES AND SAND, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, May.
Becker, Charlotte. THE OUTSIDER, The Woman's World, November, 1919.
Belknap, P. H. THE COMFORTABLE PEOPLE, Ainslee's Magazine, April.
Bell, Jessica. THE FIRST SNOW, Contemporary Verse, December, 1919.
Bellamann, H. H. CONCERT PICTURES, The Midland, A Magazine of the Middle West, May.
Benedict, Bertram. STEALING THE KAISER'S STUFF, The Nation, December 27, 1919.
Benét, Stephen Vincent. LAST SONG OF THE TROJAN LIGHT INFANTRY, Ainslee's Magazine, August, 1919; UNDER GREEN TREES, Ainslee's Magazine, January.
Benét, William Rose. ACCOSTED, The Yale Review, October, 1919; DUST ON THE PLAINS, The Century Magazine, March; HER WAY, The Yale Review, October, 1919; THE LONG ABSENCE (In Memory of T. F. B.), The Yale Review, October, 1919; THE HOUSE AT EVENING, The Yale Review, October, 1919; THE STAR, The Century Magazine, December, 1919; TO HENRY J. FORD, ILLUSTRATOR OF ALL LANG'S FAIRY BOOKS, The Bookman, January; TRAVEL, The Yale Review, October, 1919; WAR AND DEATH, The Yale Review, October, 1919.
Berry, Elizabeth Robbins. OUR UNKNOWN DEAD, The Boston Transcript, June 5.
Beecher-Gittings, Ella. THE PRICE, Contemporary Verse, December, 1919.
Birch-Bartlett, Helen. BELSHAZZAR, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, February;. DRIFT, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, February; EPILOGUE, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, February; PREMONITIONS, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, February; RE-ENCOUNTER, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, February.; REMEMBRANCE, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, February; THE BRINGER OF GIFTS, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, February.
Bird, Stephen Moylan, THE RED CROSS NURSE, Contemporary Verse, December, 1919.
Black, MacKnight. MOODs, Contemporary Verse, December, 1919. THE WEST, Contemporary Verse, December, 1919.
Blanchard, Ames. WHEN LEARNING PALLS, Contemporary Verse, June.
Block, Ralph. AFTER RACHMANINOFF, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, March.
Bodenheim, Maxwell. BOARDING-HOUSE EPISODE, The Dial, February; ENDING, The Dial, February; FIFTH AVENUE, The Dial, February; To J. C., The Dial, February; TWO WOMEN ON A STREET, The Dial, February; SONNET, The Dial, February; THE CLOUD DESCENDS, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, 1919; WHEN FOOLS DISPUTE. The Dial, February.
Boyesson, Bayard. IN THE FOREST, Ainslee's Magazine, April.
Boyle, Virginia Frazer, HENRY MILLS ALDEN, Harper's Magazine, December, 1919.
Bowman, Forrest. CONSUMMATION, The Detroit Sunday News, March 28; LE REVE, The Detroit Sunday News, February 8.
Bowen, Stirling. IMPRESSIONS, The Detroit Sunday News, May 18; NOCTURNE, The Detroit Sunday News, June, 20; REVELATION, The Detroit Sunday News, May 2; SONNET, The Detroit Sunday News, December 21, 1919; SONNET, (For G. B.), The Detroit Sunday News, March 21; TWO SONNETS, The Detroit Sunday News, January 18.
Brackett, Charles. THE FLORIST SHOP, The Century Magazine, January.
Bradford, Gamaliel. HIENELET, The Stratford Journal, October-December, 1919; IMMORTALITY, Contemporary Verse, November, 1919; NIL EXTRA TE, Contemporary Verse, November, 1919; THE CLOCK, Contemporary Verse, November, 1919; THE TOUCH, The Stratford Journal, October-December, 1919.
Braley, Berton. ENCHANTMENT, Harper's Magazine, April; RENASCENCE, Harper's Magazine, January; THIS WAY OUT, Harper's Magazine, November, 1919.
Brewster, Margaret Cable. AN EPITAPH, Scribner's Magazine, May.
Brody, Alter. SPRING, The Dial, May.
Brown, Abbie Farewell. BUT THERE ARE WINGS, Contemporary Verse, December, 1919.
Brown, Alice. ENCHANTMENT, Contemporary Verse, June; THE TREES, Harper's Magazine, February.
Brown, Georgiana. LOVE'S OLD CHARMS, The Woman's World, April.
Browne, Maurice. LOVE IS MORE CRUEL THAN DEATH, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, October, 1919; TO HER WHO PASSES, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, October, 1919; TO MY HEART, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, October, 1919.
Browne, Waldo R. THE NEW CRUSADERS, The Nation, August 30, 1919.
Brownell, Baker. STONES FOR RUSSIA, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, October, 1919.
Bryant, Louise. RUSSIAN MEMORIES, The Dial, May.
Bryher, Winifred, EPISODE, The North American Review, May.
Bunker, John. BALLADE OF FACES FAIR, Contemporary Verse, October, 1919; TWILIGHT, Contemporary Verse, October, 1919.
Burke, Frances M. AMBITION, The Detroit Sunday News, May 2; DISCONSOLATE, The Detroit Sunday News, May.
Burlingame, Roger. INTERVAL, Scribner's Magazine, May.
Burt, Maxwell Struthers. ALL NIGHT THROUGH, Contemporary Verse, September, 1919; RESURGAM, Scribner's Magazine, August, 1919.
Burton, Richard. EARLY EVENING IN APRIL, The New Republic, May 12.
Burr, Amelia Josephine. BLUE WATER, The Bookman, February; CERTAINTY ENOUGH, The Outlook, September 24, 1919; THE RAINY DAY, Contemporary Verse, May; THE VICTOR, The Outlook, March 31; TO A SCARLET LIZARD, The Outlook, January 7.
Burr, Louis. PORTRAIT, Contemporary Verse, November, 1919.
Bynner, Witter. A CHANTY, Contemporary Verse, February; A LANDSCAPE (From the French of Charles Vildrac), The Outlook, April 21; AN INN (From the French of Charles Vildrac), The Dial, April; CASTLE IN SPAIN, The Dial, April; CARVINGS OF CATHAY, The New Republic, January 28; CHINESE DRAWINGS, The Nation, September 20, 1919; GRASS-TOPS, Poetry, A Magazine of' Verse, March; PITTSBURGH, The New Republic, January 21; RAIN, The Nation, May 22; REMEMBERING JACK LONDON, Contemporary Verse, February; SIX POEMS FROM THE CHINESE, The Outlook, June 30; THE SAND-PIPER, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, March; TO A FRIEND IN CALIFORNIA, The Nation, November 29, 1919; TO A VOLUNTEER, The Nation, August 23, 1919; TO BE A MAN (From the French of Charles Vildrac), The Dial, April; WHEN YOU TOLD ME OF AN EAGLE, The Dial, April; WISE MEN, Contemporary Verse, February.
Campbell, Graham. CONSUMER, The Outlook, November 26, 1919.
Campbell, Nancy. THE MOTHER, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, March.
Cann, Louise Gebhard. SONNET, NORA MAY FRENCH, IN MEMORIAM, Ainslee's Magazine, November, 1919.
Carlin, Francis. THE LAMB,The Catholic World, February; THE SYMBOLISTS, The New Republic, January 14; WERE YOU TO BE OUT, The Catholic World, June.
Carnevali, Emanuel. THE DAY OF SUMMER, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, September, 1919.
Cartach, Sn. DREAMS, The New Republic, March 10.
Carrall, Godwin Trezevant. YOUR VOICE, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, November, 1919.
Catel, Jean. IMAGES VAINES, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, March.
Chain, Julia. THERE IS SOMETHING, The Woman's World, March.
Chapin, Anna Alice, FUEL, Ainslee's Magazine, April.
Chew, Samuel C. HOMAGE TO THOMAS HARDY, The New Republic, June 2.
Chilton, C.A. MY ANSWER, The Catholic World, October, 1919,
Clark, Badger. IN THE HILLS, Scribner's Magazine, March; PIONEERS, Scribner's Magazine, December, 1919.
Clark, Jr., Charles B. THE OLD CAMP COFFEE-POT, The Outlook, June 9.
Cleghorn, Sarah N. IF I FORGET THEE, Harper's Magazine, January; ONE LOVE, The Sonnet, September-October, 1919; PORTRAIT OF A LADY, Scribner's Magazine, September, 1919.
Clements, Colin C., Translator. FOUR POEMS FROM THE JAPANESE, The Stratford Journal, October-December, 1919.
Cline, Leonard Lanson. MEMORIAL, The Detroit Sunday News, June 13; WOUNDED, The Detroit Sunday News, July 4.
Cloud, Virginia Woodward. IN YOUR DREAM, Contemporary Verse, October, 1919; WHOM THE GODS LOVE, Contemporary Verse, October, 1919.
Coates, Archie Austin. ALTHEA, AT HER WINDOW, Ainslee's Magazine, August, 1919; BALLADE OF A SECOND HAND BOOK SHOP, The Bookman,February; BALLADE OF LADIES OF THE PRINTED PAGE, The Bookman, January; BALLADE OF THE PRINTED PAGE, The Bookman, January; GIFTS, Harper's Magazine, November, 1919. TROIS MORTS, Contemporary Verse, February.
Coatsworth, Elizabeth J. BELATED, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, December, 1919; COMING EVENTS...The New Republic, December 24, 1919; DAIBUTSU, The New Republic, September 24, 1919; LIGHT OF LOVE, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, December, 1919; LOVE TOWER, A Magazine of Verse, December, 1919; OLD TREES, The New Republic, February 18; PARK GNOMES, The New Republic, June 23; SPRING IN CHINA, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, December, 1919; THE CURSE, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, December, 1919; THE APOSTATE GYPSY, Contemporary Verse, January; THE GATE, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, December, 1919; THE GHOULS, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, December, 1919; RAIN PAGEANT, The New Republic, February 18.
Cobb, Ann. HOSPITALITY, The Outlook, May 19; KIVERS, The Outlook, February 25; UP CARR CREEK, The Outlook, August 27, 1919; THE BLACK SUNBONNET, The Outlook, May 12; THE WIDOW-MAN, The Outlook, January 14.
Colahan, Ellwood. HAND ON A HARP, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, April; PILGRIMAGE, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, April.
Coll, Aloysius. FAME, The Outlook, October, 29, 1919; WASHINGTON, The Nation, September 27, 1919.
Colum, Padraic. THE RUNE MASTER, The Nation, November 8, 1919.
Conkling, Grace Hazard. LOVE SONG. Harper's Magazine, January; SUNSET, Ainslee's Magazine, December, 1919.
Conkling, Hilda. GORGEOUS BLUE MOUNTAIN, Contemporary Verse, May; HAPPINESS, Contemporary Verse, May; HAY COOK, Contemporary Verse, May; HUMMING-BIRD, Contemporary Verse, May; POEMS BY A CHILD, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, July; ONLY MORNING-GLORY THAT FLOWERED, Contemporary Verse, May; SEA-GULL, Contemporary Verse, May; SHINY BROOK, Contemporary Verse, May; THE LONESOME GREEN APPLE, Contemporary Verse, May; TREE TOAD, Contemporary Verse, May.
Corbin, Alice. EPITAPH, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, April; GO TOUCH THE SILENT STRINGS, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, April; I SAW THE WORLD GO BY, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, April; OLD AGE, The Nation, March 2; SONG, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, April; Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, April. THE STORM BIRD, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, April.
Corlyn, Brael. SUNRISE IN WINTER, Harper's Magazine, December, 1919.
Cornell, Agnes. NIGHT FALL AFTER WIND, The New Republic, January 14.
Cowley, Malcolm. AGAINST NIGHTINGALES (Siegfried Sassoon's poems), The Dial, May; BARN DANCE, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, November, 1919; CAGES, The Stratford Journal, October-December, 1919; DANNY, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, November, 1919; FROM A YOUNG WIFE, The Pagan, April-May; MOONRISE, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, November, 1919.
Cook, Harold. LOVE WILL RETURN, Contemporary Verse, April; ON READING YOUR PLAY, Contemporary Verse, April.
Cook, John Orth. A PRAYER, Contemporary Verse, September, 1919.
Cooke, Edmund Vance. HELEN KELLER, The Stratford Journal, September, 1919; THOSE TWO, Harper's Magazine, December, 1919.
Cooley, Julia. TO LONELINESS, Contemporary Verse, October, 1919.
Crane, Hart. MY GRANDMOTHER'S LOVE LETTERS, The Dial, April.
Crawford, Nelson Antrim. A FIELD OF FLAX, The Midland, A Magazine of the Middle West, July-August, 1919; A VOICE, The Midland, A Magazine of the Middle West, July-August 1919; FREE, The Overland Monthly, November, 1919; HANDS, The Midland, A Magazine of the Middle West, July-August, 1919; MUSIC, The Pagan, April-May; PINES, The Midland, A Magazine of the Middle West, July-August, 1919; POPLARS, The Midland, A Magazine of the Middle West, July-August, 1919; THE APPLE TREE, The Midland, A Magazine of the Middle West, July-August, 1919; THE BLUE SPRUCE, The Midland, A Magazine of the Middle West, July-August, 1919; THE CATALPA, The Midland, A Magazine of the Middle West, July-August, 1919; THE JINKGO, The Midland, A Magazine of the Middle West, July-August, 1919; THE OAK, The Midland, A Magazine of the Middle West, July-August, 1919; WILLOWS, The Midland, A Magazine of the Middle West, July-August, 1919.
Crocker, Bosworth. WISHES, The Bookman, April.
Crowell, Grace Noll. THE BLIND CHILD, The Stratford Journal. October-December, 1919; THE LITTLE HOUSE, Contemporary Verse, November, 1919; YOUTH, Contemporary Verse, June.
Cummings, E. E. FIVE POEMS, The Dial, May; SEVEN POEMS, The Dial, January.
D. H. (Mrs. Richard Aldington). HYMEN, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, December, 1919.
Daly, S. J. James J. FRIENDS, The Catholic World, March; THE BEGGAR-KNIGHT, The Catholic World, May.
Damon, S. Foster. KIRI NO MEIJIYAMA, A NOH DRAMA IN JAPANESE SYLLABICS, The Dial, February.
Davies, Mary Carolyn. FOOLS, Ainslee's Magazine, April; FOREST DANCE, Contemporary Verse, April; I PRAY IN THE MIDDLE WEST, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, September, 1919; SEA GULLS, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, September, 1919; THE APPLE TREE SAID, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, September, 1919; TO A GREAT MAN, Ainslee's Magazine, September, 1919; TO OTHER MARYS, Contemporary Verse, April; YOUNG LOVE, Ainslee's magazine, December, 1919.
Davis, H. L. BAKING BREAD, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, June; FROM A VINEYARD, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, June; IN THIS WET ORCHARD, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, June; OCTOBER: "THE OLD EYES," Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, June; STALKS OF WILD HAY, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, June; THE MARKET- GARDENERS, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, June; THE RAIN-CROW, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, June; THE THRESHING-FLOOR, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, June; TO THE RIVER BEACH, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, June.
D'Emo, Leon, LIKE A CUR ON A THRONE, The Century Magazine, November, 1919.
Dehmel, Richard. A GROUP OF POEMS, TRANSLATED BY LEONORA SPEYER, The Stratford Journal, September, 1919.
De La Selva, Salomon. BIRCHES, Ainslee's Magazine, September, 1919; UNREDEEMED, Ainslee's Magazine, August, 1919.
De Maupassant, Guy. THE BIRD-CATCHER, TRANSLATED BY B. A, BOTKIN, The Stratford Journal, August, 1919.
Dell, Floyd. SONG, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, October, 1919.
Derby, Jeannette. LAND BREEZE, The New Republic, February 18; SHIP SONG, The New Republic, April 21.
Deutsch, Babette. NOUMENON, Contemporary Verse, December, 1919.
Dickins, Edith. THE NATIVITY, Scribner's Magazine, December, 1919.
Dill, Mabel. LOVE, Contemporary Verse, March.
Dodge, Louis, EVENING, Scribner's Magazine, May.
Donnelly, S. J., Francis P. MEMORIES OF FRANCE, The Catholic World, November, 1919.
Doughty, Leonard. LOOMING ISLES, Contemporary Verse, September, 1919.
Drachman, Julian M. FIRE-WEED IN THE FOREST, Contemporary Verse, November, 1919; GARGOYLES, The Nation, April 24; THE FIGHTER PRAYS, The Outlook, April 7.
Dresbach, Glenn Ward. SONGS, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, June; SONGS WHILE THE APPLEBLOSSOMS FALL, Contemporary Verse, May; SONGS WHILE THE LEAVES ARE FALLING, The Midland, A Magazine of the Middle West, September-October, 1919.
Drinkwater, John. THRIFT, The Yale Review, April; THE PLEDGE, The Yale Review, April; TO AND FRO ABOUT THE CITY, The New Republic, March 31.
Driscoll, Louise. I GO BUT MY HEART STAYS, Contemporary Verse, April; PREMONITION, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, March; SPRING THOUGHTS, Contemporary Verse, April; THE HERETIC, Contemporary Verse, April; TREASURE, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, November, 1919.
Dudley, Helen. AGAINST THE SUN, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, May; COOTHAM LANE, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, May.
E., A. (George Russell). MICHAEL, The Dial, March.
Eastman, Mabel Hillyer. "YET I AM NOT FOR PITY," Harper's Magazine, November, 1919.
Eberstein, Myrtle. SONG OF MOCKING FOR AN OLD WOMAN, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, May; SONG FOR SHREDDING BARK, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, May; WOMAN WITH TWINS, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, May.
Eddy, Ruth Bassett. LOVE ATHIRST, The Pagan, April-May.
Eldridge, Paul. AN EPITAPH, Contemporary Verse, January; MY YEARS, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, February; NIGHT, The Stratford Journal, October-December, 1919; O DIAMOND, BEAUTIFUL AND RARE, Contemporary Verse, June; THE BLACK CAT, The Stratford Journal, October-December, 1919; THE MOON AND THE OCEAN, Contemporary Verse, September, 1919.
Embry, Jacqueline. WHITE BUTTERFLY (FOR JANET—1918-19), Contemporary Verse, June.
Emmet, Rosina H. WAITING, Scribner's Magazine, October, 1919.
Erskine, John. APPARITION, Harper's Magazine, January; KINGS AND STARS, The Nation, November 15, 1919.
Ervine, St. John. TO AN UNKNOWN LADY WITH SOMBRE EYES, The New Republic, January 21.
Eyres, D. M. THE QUIET HOUSE, Harper's Magazine, April.
Farrar, John Chipman. A COMPARISON, Contemporary Verse, May; LUCILE, Contemporary Verse, February; PARENTHOOD, Contemporary Verse, May; WISH, Contemporary Verse, May.
Fennell, Charles. FIGHTING MICKEY KEEFE, Contemporary Verse, June.
Finley, John. A PICTURE OF OLD AGE, Scribner's Magazine, 1919; AND TO SUCH AS PLAY ONLY THE BASS VIOL, Scribner's Magazine, February; TO FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE, The Outlook, June 2.
Fisher, Mahlon Leonard. IN A CEMETERY, The Nation, March 6; IN WINTER, The Sonnet, January-February; NO WEAK BELIEVER I, The Sonnet, March-April; RELENTLESSNESS, The Sonnet, March-April; THE BROTHERS, The Sonnet, November-December, 1919; THE HILLS, The Nation, April 10; THE OMNIPRESENT, The Sonnet, January-February; THE ROAD RUNS FAST, The Midland, A Magazine of the Middle West, September-October, 1919; THE STEADFAST, The Sonnet, November-December, 1919.
Fletcher, John Gould. AT THE TURN OF THE YEAR, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, December, 1919; RAIN, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, December, 1919; THE BLACK ROCK, TO THOMAS HARDY, The Yale Review, July.
Flexner, Hortense. DEATH MASK OF AN UNKNOWN SOLDIER, The North American Review, February; FOR A PIECE OF OLD POTTERY, Contemporary Verse, November, 1919.
Foster, Jeanne Robert. A LAMENT, Ainslee's Magazine, March; PETITION, Ainslee's Magazine, November, 1919.
Fox, Paul Hervey. THE CAPTAINS OF THE CORSICAN, A BALLADE, Ainslee's Magazine, April.
Fraley, Frederick. TESTIMONY, Contemporary Verse. November, 1919.
Frank, Florence Kiper. BIRTHDAY, Contemporary Verse, January; MOTHERS OF THE WORLD, Contemporary Verse, January; SOLDIER, Contemporary Verse, January.
Frazee-Bower, Helen. MY LAUGHTER, The Pagan,April-May.
Frederick, John Towner. THE ORCHARD, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, October, 1919.
Freeman, Joseph L. GLORIA MUNDI, The Nation, March 6.
Frost, Robert. FRAGMENTARY BLUE, Harper's Magazine, July; FOR ONCE, THEN, SOMETHING, Harper's Magazine, July; PALCE FOR A THIRD, Harper's Magazine, July; To E. T. (EDWARD THOMAS), The Yale Review, April.
Fujita, Jun. TANKA, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, November, 1919.
Galahad, Joseph Andrew. THE KNIFE, The North American Review, May.
Gale, Zona. THE SECRET LOVE, Harper's Magazine, October, 1919.
Galloway, Elizabeth Joan. THE THEATRE, Contemporary Verse, February.
Garesché, S. J., Edward. NIAGARA IN WINTER, The Catholic World, January.
Garman, A.D. YAWP, The Pagan, April-May.
Garnett, Louise Ayres. AH'S MARCHIN' ON TO DOOMSDAY, The Outlook, June 2; BLACK AND WHITE, The New Republic, February 18; HOUND AT NIGHT, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, December, 1919; HOW LONG, MASS JESUS, HOW LONG? The Outlook, May 5; IVORY THUMBS, The Outlook, July 21; LITTLE CHIEF, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, December, 1919; NIGGER HEABEN, The Outlook, June 23; OUTCAST, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, December, 1919; REFLECTIONS, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, December, 1919; SONG, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, December, 1919; THE PRODIGAL, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, December, 1919.
Garrett, Clara Maude: RENEWAL, Ainslee's Magazine, March.
Garrison, Theodosia. THE HOSTS OF MARY, Scribner's Magazine, December, 1919.
Gessler, Clifford Franklin. FREE RUSSIA, The Nation, August 9, 1919; TO A GIRL ON ROLLER SKATES. Contemporary Verse, December, 1919.
Gibson, Wilfred Wilson. IN KHAKI, The Yale Review, October, 1919; MEDICAL OFFICER'S CLERK, The Yale Review, October, 1919; SENTRY GO, The Yale Review, October, 1919; THE KITTIWAKE, The Yale Review, October, 1919.
Gidlow, Elsie A. AT THE TOP OF THE WORLD, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, October, 1919; NEVER ANY FEAR, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, October, 1919.
Gilchrist, Marie Emile. EN ROUTE — THE NEW ENGLAND EXPRESS, The Nation, March 13.
Giltinan, Caroline. ALONE IN SPRING, Contemporary Verse, BUBBLES, American Poetry Magazine; ENOUGH, American Poetry Magazine; THE BALL, The Catholic World; THE DISGUISE, "The Stars and Stripes," December 13, 1919; THE FIRST CHRISTMAS, The Catholic World, December, 1919. THE VISITOR, The Catholic World; TRIUMPH, Contemporary Verse.
Glaenzer, Richard Butler. DRY-POINT OF MRS. JAMES LUCE, Contemporary Verse, December, 1919; NASTURTIUM (Sonnetina). Ainslee's Magazine, January; THE CHINESE COAT, The Bookman, April.
Gordon, David. A SPRING RONDEL, Harper's Magazine, April.
Gorman, Herbert S. I CANNOT PUT YOU AWAY, The N.Y. Sun Books and Book World, January 18; LILITH LILITH, The N.Y. Sun Books and Book World, February 1; THE CABIN IN THE WOOD, The N. Y. Sun Books and Book World, February 15; THE FANATIC, The N. Y. Sun Books and Book World, December 28, 1919.
Granich, Irwin. SURRENDER, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, June.
Gray, Daniel W. DUST, Contemporary Verse, November, 1919. THE DEATH OF THE LIZZIE, Contemporary Verse, November, 1919.
Griffith, William. A FOREST RENDEZVOUS, The Smart Set, September, 1919; A SONG OF PIERROT, Ainslee's Magazine, February; ADELINA PATTI, The N.Y. Sun Books and Book World, November 2, 1919; I, WHO FADE WITH THE LILACS, The N.Y. Sun Books and Book World, August 10, 1919; I, WHO LAUGHED MY YOUTH AWAY, Ainslee's Magazine, August, 1919.
Guiterman, Arthur. A BALLADE AGAINST CRITICS, Harper's Magazine, August, 1919; HOME AGAIN, The Outlook, November 26, 1919; HOW LYRICS ARE BORN, The Bookman, May.
Halbrook, Nellie R. TOLL, Contemporary Verse, May.
Hall, Amanda. O SINGER! O SINGER! Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, March; STORM, Contemporary Verse, July; THE DANCER IN THE SHRINE, Contemporary Verse, April; THE DISH-WASHER, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, March; VALUES, Contemporary Verse, July; WAIF, Contemporary Verse, January.
Hall, Carolyn. GREY MOTH, Contemporary Verse, June.
Hall, Hazel. CAPTIVE, Harper's Magazine, October, 1919; LOCKED OUT, Ainslee's Magazine, March; MASKS, The Nation, February 28; NEEDLEWORK, Poetry, A Magazine Of Verse, April; THE LITTLE HOUSE, Harper's Magazine, November, 1919; SONGS FOR DREAMS, Contemporary Verse, December, 1919; THREE GIRLS, The Century Magazine.
Haller, Malleville. IN THE SUBWAY, Scribner's Magazine, June.
Hammond, Eleanor. BEGGAR, Contemporary Verse, May; CHRONOMETERS, Contemporary Verse, May; KISSES, Contemporary Verse, May; MORIBUND, Contemporary Verse, May; THE MOUNTAIN BROOK,.Contemporary Verse, May' TRANSITION, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, June; UNFULFILLED, Contemporary Verse, May; WHITE WATER, Contemporary Verse, May; WINTER WOODS, Contemporary Verse, January.
Hanline, Maurice A. DRINKS, Contemporary Verse, January.
Hanley, Elizabeth. CONVERSION, The Bookman, April.
Hardy, Evelyn. A STAR, Scribner's Magazine, April.
Hare, Amory. APRIL, Contemporary Verse, August, 1919; AUGUST MOON, Contemporary Verse, August, 1919; "BUT THERE WAS ONE WHO WORE A CROWN," Contemporary Verse, August, 1919; BLIND, Contemporary Verse, August, 1919; BY THE HEARTH, Contemporary Verse, August, 1919; BY THE WINDOW, Contemporary Verse, August, 1919; CHANTICLEER, Contemporary Verse, August, 1919; MOODS, Contemporary Verse, August, 1919; MOON MAGIC, Contemporary Verse, August, 1919; OUTSIDE AND IN, Contemporary Verse, August, 1919; REMEMBERED, Contemporary Verse, August, 1919; "SO SLIM, AND SWIFT AND GLAD WAS SHE," Contemporary Verse, August, 1919; "SHINE," Contemporary Verse, August, 1919; SONNET I, Contemporary Verse, August, 1919; SONNET II, Contemporary Verse, August, 1919; SURGERY, Contemporary Verse, August, 1919; THE DEAD, Contemporary Verse, August, 1919; THE OLD ROAD, Contemporary Verse, August, 1919; UNSOLVED, Contemporary Verse, August, 1919; WALKING AT NIGHT, Contemporary Verse, August, 1919.
Harper, Isabel Westcott. TO THE GYPSY GIRL, Scribner's Magazine, November, 1919.
Haste, Gwendolen. BOOT HILL GRAVEYARD, The Midland, A Magazine of the Middle West, September-October, 1919.
Hartley, Marsden. GIRL WITH THE CAMELIA SMILE, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, May; ESPANOL, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, May; SATURDAY, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, May; THE ASSES' OUT-HOUSE, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, May; THE FESTIVAL OF THE CORN, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, May; THE TOPAZ OF THE SIXTIES, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, May; To C ——, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, May.
Hawkridge, Emma. HOPI SUN-CHRISTENING, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, January.
Hayne, William Hamilton. APRIL, Scribner's Magazine, May; LEAVES, Ainslee's Magazine, January.
Head, Cloyd and Gavin, Mary. THE CURTAINS, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, April.
Heideman, Miriam. AFTER DEATH, The Detroit Sunday News, May 16; SONG, The Detroit Suday News, March 12.
Henderson, Daniel. A NATURE-LOVER PASSES, Harper's Magazine, August, 1919; LOVE AND LYRE, Contemporary Verse, October, 1919; THE POET'S PATH, Contemporary Verse, December, 1919.
Henderson, Rose. NIGHT, Contemporary Verse, December, 1919.
Henderson, Ruth E. THE DARK. The Nation, December 13, 1919.
Hendrix, Mrs. W. S. OCTOBER'S CHILD, The Texas Review, October, 1919.
Hensel, Gladys. THE SHEPHERD. HYMN, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, June.
Hepburn, Elizabeth Newport. A PRIESTESS OF APOLLO, Ainslee's Magazine, January.
Herold, Leon. MELANCHOLY AND JOY, The Detroit Sunday News, March 28; YOULIA, The Detroit Sunday News, March 21.
Hersey, Marie Louise. CONTRASTS. Contemporary Verse, April.
Herron, Vennette. THE GAME, Ainslee's Magazine, April.
Hewitt, Ethel M. Ivory. Harper's Magazine, November, 1919.
Heyward, DuBose. THE MOUNTAIN WOMAN, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, July.
Heyward, Janie Screven. DAFFODILS, Contemporary Verse,, April.
Hickey, Emily. "WHOSE, THEN, SHALL THOSE THINGS BE?" The Catholic World, October, 1919.
Hill, Frank Ernest. THE FLYERS, The Nation, January 10.
Hillman, Carolyn. SUGAR MICE, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, December, 1919. WREATHS, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, December, 1919.
Hillman, Gordon Malherbe. SEA LURE, Adventure, February 18; SPANISH LINERS, The Boston Transcript, November 12; THE SIREN, The Christian Science Monitor, June 25; THE TANKERS, Adventure.
Hillyer, Robert. BALLADE, The Dial, March. THE MIRRORS, The Sonnet, November-December, 1919. VIGIL, The Sonnet, November-December, 1919.
Hoffman, Phœbe. THE CIVIL ENGINEERS, Contemporary Verse, October, 1919; THE POET FINDS HIMSELF, Contemporary Verse, January.
Holbrook, Weare. THE MIDDLE YEARS, The Midland, A Magazine of the Middle West, April.
Holden, Raymond. SUGARING, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, July; THOMPSON STREET, The Midland, A Magazine of the Middle West, January-February-March. TO THE DEAD, NEW YEAR'S EVE, 1919, The Midland, A Magazine of the Middle West, January-February-March.
Holden, Raymond. TWO WORLDS, The Midland, A Magazine of the Middle West, January-February-March.
Holt, Florence Taber. FLOWERS, The Dial, February; THE WIND OF LOVE, The Dial, February; TO PAN, The Dial, February.
Holladay, Paula. MEMORY, Ainslee's Magazine, March. Housman, Laurence. TO A RIDER DROWNED AT SEA, The New Republic, May 26.
Hoyt, Helen. AUTOMOBILES ON SUNDAY, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, March; BY THE LAKE, A Magazine of Verse, March; CHICAGO, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, March; CREATOR, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, March; ENCOUNTER, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, March; HEADSTONE, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, March; NIGHT, Poetry. A Magazine of Verse, March; ROCK AND SEA, The Stratford Journal, September, 1919; THE FIRST TIME I LOVED, Ainslee's Magazine, February; THE STONE-AGE SEA, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, March; THERE WAS A TIME, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, March; WHEN WE ARE ASLEEP, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, March.
Hoyt, Henry Martyn. THE BALLAD MONGER, The Outlook, July 7.
Howe, Susanne. THE SANATORIUM, Contemporary Verse, February.
Howell, Lucile Topping. LITTLE MOTHER WITH SNOW-WHITE HAIR, The Woman's World, May.
Hooke, Hilda M. THE VAGABOND, Contemporary Verse,November 1919.
Huckfield, Leyland. A WINTER GALE, Contemporary Verse, February; THE SINGING SKULL, Contemporary Verse, December, 1919.
Huddleston, Mabel Barker. THE ROOF-GARDEN, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, May.
Hughes, Glenn. REVELATION, Ainslee's Magazine, May.
Hunter, Isabel Robins. (By a child of thirteen.) THE ATTACK ON THE HAREM, The New York Times, May 9.
J. S. V. L'EGLISE COLLIOURE, Stars and Stripes, January 10.
Jackson, Leroy F. CHARLEY, The Midland, A Magazine of the Middle West, July-August, 1919; SUNDAY, The Midland, A Magazine of the Middle West, July-August, 1919; THE COYOTE, The Midland, A Magazine of the Middle West, July-August, 1919.
Jenkins, Oliver. LIVIN'? The Open Road, March; ON AND ON, The Boston Transcript, November 12, 1919; SPARKS, The Boston Transcript, December 24, 1919; THE OLD CATHEDRAL, The Boston Transcript, December 13, 1919; TINSEL, The Boston Transcript, November 15, 1919.
Jenney, Florence G. SONNET, The Midland, A Magazine of the Middle West, April.
Jennings, Leslie Nelson. BARS, Ainslee's Magazine, October, 1919; COME WITH YOUR FLUTE, Ainslee's Magazine, February; GOSSIP, Ainslee's Magazine, January; RUTHERFORD, Contemporary Verse, September, 1919; THE PUPPET BOOTH, The Nation, March 6; THIS DUST OF DREAMS, The Nation, February 21; TO BE REMEMBERED, Contemporary Verse, September, 1919; TRANSMUTATION, Scribner's Magazine, September, 1919.
Jessup, Frederika Peterson. THE CHILD TO THE GHOST OF KARIN, Scribner's Magazine, January.
Jewett, Eleanore Myers. BEFORE YOU CAME, The Woman's World, March.
Johnson, Ida Judith. CHANGED, Contemporary Verse, December, 1919.
Johnson, Vlyn. FRIENDS, Contemporary Verse, June.
Johnson, William. SKETCH, The Midland, A Magazine of the Middle West, May.
Jolas, Eugene. VAGABOND, The Pagan, April-May.
Jones, Howard Mumford. THEY THAT DWELL IN SHADOW, The Midland, A Magazine of the Middle West, Jannuary-February-March.
Jones, Ralph Mortimer. A PRAYER, Contemporary Verse, May.
Jones, Ruth Lambert.COMPARISON, The Bookman, September, 1919; ECHOES, Contemporary Verse, December, 1919; INVIOLATE, The Bookman, January; THE PRODIGAL, Scribner's Magazine, January; TO HER, Contemporary Verse, December, 1919.
Junkin, Charles Irvin. AN OLD-FASHIONED WEDDING HYMN IN JUNE TIME, The Woman's World, June.
Kauffman, Reginald Wright. RECOGNITION, The Century Magazine, November, 1919.
Kearney, Clytie Hazel. LOST MOON, Contemporary Verse, September, 1919.
Kelley, Leone. SNOW, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, January.
Kemp, Harry. DISPARITY, Ainslee's Magazine, May; HE DID NOT KNOW, The Century Magazine, October, 1919; I KNOW THAT FLOWERS FADE, Ainslee's Magazine, April; INSOMNIA, The Outlook, January 14; THE TRAVELER, Ainslee's Magazine, December, 1919; TO FIAMETTA, Ainslee's Magazine, August, 1919; YOU TALK OF THIS AND THAT, The Outlook, January 28.
Kempson, John Whitman. THE RIVER LEAF (SAILING A CANOE ON THE HUDSON), Contemporary Verse, July.
Kenyon, Bernice Lesbia. DISTRACTION, The Sonnet, September-October, 1919; EARTH-BOUND, The Sonnet, March-April.
Kenyon, Doris. THE BIRTH OF THE FIREFLY, Ainslee's Magazine, January.
Keyes, Franklin C. A BALLAD OF DYING, The Catholic World, November, 1919.
Kilbourne, Fannie. FAITHFULNESS, Ainslee's Magazine, February.
Kilmer, Aline. ATONEMENT, The Outlook, May 19; THE GARDEN, The Bookman, March.
Krainin, Blanche. TRIUMPH, The Pagan, April-May.
Kreymborg, Alfred. DOROTHY, The Dial, March; CRADLE, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, February; INDIAN SKY, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, January; MISS SAL'S MONOLOGUE, Contemporary Verse, February; SPIRIT, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, February.
Kipling, Rudyard. THE GODS OF THE COPYBOOK MAXIMS, Harper's Magazine, January; TO W. C. W. M. D. Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, February.
Laird, William. BACKGROUNDS, Contemporary Verse, April.
Lake, Stuart N. DAD AN' ME, The Outlook, June 9.
Langebek, May Wyon. COMFORTERS, The Midland, A Magazine of the Middle West, January-February-March.
Laprade, M. PEACE WITH HONOR, Harper's Magazine, October, 1919; THE BANDICOOT, Harper's Magazine, March; THE MARMOT AND THE MARMOSET, Harper's Magazine, December, 1919; THE RIME OF THE LAST BOLSHEVIST, Harper's Magazine, February.
Laramore, Vivian Yeiser. LOVE'S GIFTS, The Woman's World, January; ON MOTHER'S DAY, The Woman's World, May.
Larson, Ernest E. SONG, The Detroit Sunday News, March 2.
Lawless, Margaret H. OPPORTUNITY, The C. L. of C. Index, July.
LeCron, Helen Cowles. FAMILIAR, Contemporary Verse, April; PRAYER IN SPRING, Contemporary Verse, April.
Le Gallienne, Hesper. A VILLANELLE OF LIFE AND DEATH, Harper's Magazine, December, 1919; THE PATIENT GODS, Harper's Magazine, August, 1919.
Le Gallienne, Richard. A BOOKMAN'S BALLADE, Harper's' Magazine, November, 1919; A BALLADE OF PESSIMISTS, Harper's Magazine, February; A WALKING SONG, Harper's Magazine, April; BALLADE OF HIS LADY'S WARDROBE, Ainslee's Magazine, January; BALLADE OF THE MODERN BARD, Harper's Magazine, October, 1919; BALLADE OF THE UNCHANGING BEAUTY, Ainslee's Magazine, April; CARPE DIEM, Ainslee's Magazine, November, 1919; CATALOGUE OF LOVELY THINGS, Harper's Magazine, February; IN THE WOODS AT MIDSUMMER, Ainslee's Magazine, August, 1919; ON RE-READING "LE MORTE D'ARTHUR," The Bookman, January; WHENE'ER I SING OF YOU, Ainslee's Magazine, February.
Leonard, Dorothy. THE PROOF, The Outlook, May 12; "YOU THINK ME COLD," Harper's Magazine, February.
Leroi, Ralph. IN A VIRGINIA GARDEN, The New Republic, February 18.
Lesemann, Maurice. APPOINTMENT, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, April; NO POEM, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, April; THE CRYING CRANES, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, April; TO HIMSELF IN AUTUMN, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, April; TRAMPS, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, April.
Lewis, Charlton. METHUSALEH, The Yale Review, April.
Lee, Agnes. MRS. MALOOLY, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, June; OLD LIZETTE ON SLEEP, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, June; THE ANCIENT SINGER, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, June; THE ILEX TREE, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, June.
Lee, Harry. FOR REMEMBRANCE, The Outlook, June 2; THE LETTER-CARRIER, The Outlook, June 16; TO THE SUPREME, The Catholic World, March.
Lee, Muna. REGRET, Ainslee's Magazine, October, 1919; THINGS THAT DO NOT CHANGE, Ainslee's Magazine, March.
Lewis, Janet Loxley. AUSTERITY, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, June; FOSSIL, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, June; GEOLOGY, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, June; THE END OF THE AGE, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, June.
Lieberman, Elias. BALLADE OF LOST ILLUSIONS, Ainslee's Magazine, February; GARGOYLES, The Stratford Journal, 1919.
Lincoln, Elliot C. GRAY BUTTE, Contemporary Verse, June; MONTANA NIGHT, Contemporary Verse, December, 1919; MRS. SENATOR JONES, Contemporary Verse, December, 1919.
Linderman, Frank B. MY FRIEND PETE LEBEAUX, Scribner's Magazine, 1919.
Lippmann, L. Blackledge. TWILIGHT, Harper's Magazine, February.
Livesay, Florence Randal. GOLD -LADIES, Contemporary Verse, December, 1919.
Lowell, Amy. A LEGEND OF PORCELAIN, The North American Review, March; A SHOWER, The Century Magazine, April; AUTUMN, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, September, 1919; BALLS, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, September, 1919; FRIMAIRE, Scribner's Magazine, August, 1919; GAVOTTE IN D MINOR, The Dial, June; GOOD GRACIOUS, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, September, 1919; LITTLE IVORY FIGURES PULLED WITH STRINGS, The North American Review, October, 1919; MEMORANDUM CONFIDED BY A YUCCA TO A PASSION VINE, The Bookman, November-December, 1919;MERRY STATEMENT, The Bookman, May; PEACH-COLOR TO A SOAP-BUBBLE, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, September, 1919; THE ARTIST, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, September, 1919; THE BOOKSHOP, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, September, 1919; TREES IN WINTER, The North American Review, October, 1919.
Lowie, Risa. PEACE, The New Republic, May 12.
Lowrey, Perrin Holmes. DAWN IN THE HILLS, Contemporary Verse, April; GIFTS, Ainslee's Magazine, January; THE TRYSTING WOODS, Contemporary Verse, April; TO A MOCKING BIRD, Contemporary Verse, April.
Luce, Morton. THE FLOWER AND THE BUTTERFLY, The Sonnet, March-April.
Luckow, Ruth. DOVES, Contemporary Verse, June.
Lyster, M. DAWN, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, October, 1919; THE PAINTED SAINT IN THE WOOD, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, October, 1919.
M. FAREWELL. Contemporary Verse, May.
M., S. M. FOR YOUR BIRTHDAY, The Catholic World, June.
MacIntyre, Carlyle F. ELF MUSIC, Ainslee's Magazine, April; THE DREAMER IN THE SUN, Ainslee's Magazine, November, 1919; THE MAGIC INN, Ainslee's Magazine, October, 1919.
Mala, Yenomdrah. THE BODY AND THE SOUL, The New Republic, December 31, 1919.
Markham, Lucia Clark. TO GERALDINE FARRAR AS "JOAN THE WOMAN," Contemporary Verse, May.
Marks, Jeannette, EVEN AS HERE, The Nation, June 5; GREEN GOLDEN DOOR, The New Republic, March 3; JOURNEY'S END, Ainslee's Magazine, March; MANY SORROWS, The Outlook, May 26; ROSY MILLER, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, March; SEA-GULLS, Poetry, A Magazine Of Verse, March; TWO CANDLES, The North American Review, August, 1919.
Masters, Edgar Lee. A REPUBLIC, The Nation, September 27, 1919.
Marple, Charles F. WOMAN, Harper's Magazine, January.
Masefield, John. FOUR SONNETS, Contemporary Verse, April; LYRIC, The Yale Review, January; THE PASSING STRANGE, The Yale Review, April.
Marshall, Marguerite Moores. A SONG OF LOVES MORTAL, Ainslee's Magazine, November, 1919; RESURGAM, Ainslee's Magazine, October, 1919.
Martyn, Wyndham. AUTRE TEMPS, Ainslee's Magazine, April.
Matson, Mabel Cornelia. WHAT GRIEF? Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, May.
Maynard, Theodore. THE DENIAL, The Outlook, July 14.
Meadowcroft, Clara Pratt. ROAD SONG, Contemporary Verse, January.
Merington, Marguerite. ADAM DAULAC, The North American Review, April.
Merryman, Mildred Plew. TWO AT A CONCERT, Contemporary Verse, May.
Meyer, Josephine A., EPITAPH, Ainslee's Magazine, December, 1919.
Meyer, Lucy Rider. DEY'S A LI'L SIX FEET OF GROUN', SOMEWHERE (A SPIRITUAL), The Outlook, December 17, 1919; WEN YE DOAN' KNOW WHAT TO DO (A SPIRITUAL), The Outlook, March 24.
Middleton, Scudder. OVERHEAD, Harper's Magazine, October, 1919; SONG IN THE KEY OF AUTUMN, The Century Magazine, November, 1919; THE WORKER, Harper's Magazine, December, 1919.
Millay, Edna St. Vincent. DOUBT NO MORE THAT OBERON, The Nation, April 13; INLAND, Ainslee's Magazine, November, 1919; MARIPOSA, Ainslee's Magazine, May; MIRAGE, Ainslee's Magazine, March; ROSEMARY, Ainslee's Magazine, October, 1919; SHRINE, Ainslee's Magazine, September, 1919; SONG OF A SECOND APRIL, Ainslee's Magazine, February; SONNET, Ainslee's Magazine, April; THE DEATH OF AUTUMN, The Nation, October 25, 1919; TO LOVE IMPUISSANT, The Dial, March.
Miller, Florette Truesdell. THE MANDOLIN, The Stratford Journal, October-December, 1919; THE WIND'S WAY, The Stratford Journal, October-December, 1919.
Miller, J. Corson. APHRODITE, The Forum, February; BRETON LOVE-SONG, The Boston Transcript, February 4; CHRISTMAS IN THE ARGONNE, The N. Y. Times, December 19, 1919; DEDICATION, The Magnificat, September, 1919; KARINNA, The Boston Transcript, April 7; LIFE'S GRAY SHADOWS, The Forum, December, 1919; MADONNA OF THE MOONLIT HOURS, The Ave Maria, May 8; MAXIMILIAN MARVELOUS, The N.Y. Times, February 8; RECOMPENSE, The Forum, April-May; REMEMBRANCE, The Boston Transcript, December 24, 1919; SONG-MAKERS, The Boston Transcript, December 3; THE MARCH OF HUMANITY, The Nation, September 6, 1919; THE RAINBOW, The Catholic World, July; THE VICTOR, The Rosary Magazine, February; THE WORLD, The Catholic World, June; TRANSFORMATION, The N. Y. Times, January 5.
Minas, Lootfi. THE INFINITE DESIRE, Translated from the Armenian by B. A. Botkin, The Stratford Journal, October-December, 1919.
Mitchell, Ruth Comfort. THE CHOOSING, Contemporary Verse, October, 1919.
Monro, Harold. CUTY STORM, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, March; INTROSPECTION, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, March.
Moore, William Dyer. KING ARTHUR'S RETURN, The Texas Review, October, 1919.
Morgan, Angela. THE DOER, The Outlook, December 31,1919.
Morgan, Emanuel. STATUES, The Nation, February 14.
Morton, David. A CERTAIN OAK, Ainslee's Magazine, February; A.CERTAIN ONE WHO DIED, Ainslee's Magazine, January; A GARDEN WALL, The Bookman, September, 1919;ALCHEMIES, The Nation, March 6; IN THE CEMETERY, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, February; MARINERS, Harper's Magazine,August, 1919; SORROW IN SPRING, Ainslee's Magazine, May; SUMMER, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, July; SYMBOLS, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, July; THE CONVICT, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, February; TO WILLIAM GRIFFITH, HE THAT IS PIERROT, The N.Y. Sun Books and Book World, July 27, 1919; TRANSFIGURATION, Ainslee's Magazine, September, 1919; WRITS, The Bookman, November-December, 1919.
Morris, Keneth, A MORNING IN SEPTEMBER, Contemporary Verse, June; EVENING OVER FALSE BAY, Contemporary Verse, June; NOON ON THE HILLSIDE, Contemporary Verse, June; PAMPAS-GRASS, Contemporary Verse, June; THE FLOWERS, Contemporary Verse, June; THE RAIN, Contemporary Verse, June.
Moult, Thomas. HERE FOR A TIME, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, July.
Mount, Richard. NOCTURNE, The Detroit Sunday News, February 22.
Moore Edward Roberts. JESUS, The Catholic World, May.
Moore, Marianne. ENGLAND, The Dial, April; PICKING AND CHOOSING, The Dial, April.
Muller, Julius W. PRISONER OF BELSHAZZAR, Contemporary Verse, October, 1919.
Munsterberg, Margaret. TWO SONNETS ON PAINTINGS BY JEAN FRANCOIS MILLET, The Stratford Journal, September, 1919.
Murphy, Charles R. IN THE MAKING OF A HOUSE, Contemporary Verse, July; THRENODY, Contemporary Verse, July; TO FRANCE, Contemporary Verse, November, 1919; WINTER-BOUND, Contemporary Verse, February.
Muth, Edna Tucker. THE FRESHMAN, The Midland, A Magazine of the Middle West, November-December, 1919.
McCarthy, John Russell. OUR FRIENDS, Contemporary Verse, March; WILD ASTER, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, December, 1919.
McClellan, Walter. To V. C. G., The Midland, A Magazine of the Middle West, November-December, 1919
McCluskey, Katharine Wisner. A HEAT WAVE, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, July; A JESTER, Contemporary Verse, March; CONFESSIONAL, Contemporary Verse, October, 1919; DARKNESS, Contemporary Verse, June; ENVYINGS, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, July.
McConnell, Anna B. ACCURACY, Contemporary Verse, November, 1919.
McCourt, Edna Wahlert. QUERY, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, May; STRANGERS, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, May; YOU AND I, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, May.
McDougal, Mary Carmack. THE JOKE, Contemporary Verse, January; TO AN ANCIENT MAN AT FORTY-SEVEN, Contemporary Verse, January; TO SOMETHING INDOMITTABLE, Contemporary Verse, January.
McFarland, Helen. A WISH, Harper's Magazine, April.
McIntyre, Carlyle F. COMPENSATIONS, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, May; LADY OF AUTUMN, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, May; THE HOUSE OF LAURELS, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, May; THE MOURNERS, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, May; THE BRIMMING CUP, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, May; THE GREEN DOOR, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, May; THE UNTAMED, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, May.
McKenny, Margaret. SUMMER, Contemporary Verse, July; SWEETPEAS, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, July; THE MEADOW, Contemporary Verse, July.
McLeod, Irene Rutherford. APRIL, The New Republic, May 12; FREE WILL, The Century Magazine, June.
N., A. OUT OF THE DARK, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, June.
Neilson, Caroline. DAWN, Contemporary Verse, June.
Nevin, Hardwicke. SOISSONS, Scribner's Magazine, May.
Nichols, Robert. INVOCATION, The Century Magazine, November, 1919; SEVENTEEN, The Yale Review, April; SONG AND SOUL, The Century Magazine, January; THE FLOWER OF FLAME, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, November, 1919; THE LONG ROAD, The Century Magazine, June; THE PILGRIM, The Century Magazine, June; THE SPRIG OF LIME, The Yale Review, January.
Nicholl, Louise Townsend. IN THE STREET, The Midland, A Magazine of the Middle West,April; REVELATION, Contemporary Verse, September, 1919; WEAVER, The Midland, A Magazine of the Middle West, September-October, 1919.
Noguchi, Yone. HOKKU, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, November, 1919.
Norman, H. L. CROONING CREEDS, The Stratford Journal, August, 1919.
Norton, Grace Fallow. "'GOOD-BY, PROUD WORLD, I'M GOING HOME!" Harper's Magazine, August, 1919; OR DID YOU LOVE DEATH? Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, February; THE BURNED HOUSE, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, February.
Norris, W. A. AFTER SNOW, Contemporary Verse, January.
Novak, Ruthele. IN A DINING CAR, Contemporary Verse, January.
Noyes, Alfred, CHRISTMAS, 1919, The Outlook, December 17, 1919; MOUNTAIN LAUREL, The Yale Review, April.
O'Brien, Mary J. THE HOLY TREE, The Catholic World, March.
O'Connor, Armel. BEAUTY, The Catholic World, February.
O'Conor, Norreys Jephson. BELLS OF ERIN, Contemporary Verse, March; MOIRA'S KEENIN, Contemporary Verse, October, 1919; THE ROAD, Contemporary Verse,, March; THE SONG WITHOUT END, Contemporary Verse,, March.
O'Donnell, C. S.C., Charles L. SAID ALAN SEEGER UNTO RUPERT BROOKE, The Sonnet, January-February; TRANSFORMATION, The Bookman, November-December, 1919; TWILIGHT, The Bookman, March.
Oliver, Wade. BROKEN STARS, Contemporary Verse, July; LYRIC SILENCE, Contemporary Verse, July; THE NAME, Contemporary Verse, July.
Olivier, Sydney. TRANSPARENCY, Ainslee's Magazine, November, 1919.
Olson, Ted. CLOUDS, Contemporary Verse, November, 1919; SYMBOL, Contemporary Verse, June.
O'Neil, George. CIRCE, Contemporary Verse, March; SONG OF THE WANDERLUST, The Century Magazine, April; YOUTH IN MID-SUMMER, Contemporary Verse, July.
O'Neil, Ida. TO A PERSIAN MANUSCRIPT. The Nation, August 2, 1919.
O'Neill, Genevieve D. DESPAIR, Contemporary Verse, June.
O'Neill, Sheila. THE TEST, Contemporary Verse, January; TO ONE AFAR, The Pagan, April-May.
O'Seasnain, Brian Padraic. THE SILENCES, The Catholic World, August, 1919.
Paine, Albert Bigelow. THAW, Harper's Magazine, February.
Parker, Hetty Cattell. SENSORIAL SKETCHES OF WOMEN, The Pagan, April-May.
Parrish, Emma Kenyon. JOY, Contemporary Verse, May; WHITE AND GOLD, Contemporary Verse, December, 1919.
Patterson, Antoinette De Coursey. MOONLIGHT IN THE BIRCH WOOD, Contemporary Verse, June; THE RESPONSE, Contemporary Verse, June; THE SEA TO-DAY, Ainslee's Magazine, November, 1919.
Patterson, Jean Rushmore. KING ALBERT COMES! The Outlook, October 1, 1919.
Peabody, Josephine Prestton. PORTRAIT OF A DAUGHTER, Contemporary Verse, November, 1919.
Peace, Arthur Wallace. A DAY FROM PARADISE, The Woman's World, January.
Pennant, Antoinette West. MEED, Harper's Magazine, March.
Percy, William Alexander. ADVENTURE, Contemporary Verse, May; AUTUMNAL, Scribner's Magazine, March; FARMERS, Contemporary Verse, May.
Peterson, Frederick. THE WINTER GARDEN, The Nation, January 17.
Pettus, Martha Elvira. SISTER TERESA (IN MEMORIAM), The Catholic World, August, 1919.
Perry, Lilla Cabot, FORGIVE ME NOT! Harper's Magazine, May; THE CUP, Harper's Magazine, May; THE ROSE, Harper's Magazine, May.
Peyton, John R. C. SHOOTING STAR, Contemporary Verse, February; THE LAKE AND I, Contemporary Verse, February; TIME, Contemporary Verse, February; WOLVES, Contemporary Verse, February.
Phillpotts, Eden. ON EYLESBARROW, Scribner's Magazine, November, 1919.
Piper, Edwin Ford. BINDLESTIFF, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, January; SWEETGRASS RANGE, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, January; WHOA, ZEBE, WHOA, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, January.
Pinckney, Josephine L. S. NUPTIAL, Contemporary Verse, September, 1919.
Pinder, Frances Dickenson. INLAND, Contemporary Verse, September, 1919.
Pinifer, Alice. THE WIND, Contemporary Verse, May.
Porter, Charlotte. SHOP-FLOWERS AND SHRINE-FLOWERS, The Stratford Journal, 1919.
Portor, Laura Spencer. THE SHEPHERDS, Harper's Magazine, December, 1919.
Pound, Ezra. THE FOURTH CANTO, The Dial, June.
Powers, C. S. P., Charles. J. A PRAYER UPON THE SEA, The Catholic World, March.
Powys, John Cowper. THE RIDDLE, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, June.
Prall, Dorothea. RETICENCE, Contemporary Verse, May.
Quinter, George E. FROM THE BEACH, Contemporary Verse, October, 1919.
Quirk, S. J., Charles J. UPON DISCOVERING A ROSE IN A BOOK OF POEMS. TO MY MOTHER, The Catholic World, July.
Raskin, P. M. THE GAME, The Stratford Journal, September, 1919.
Ravenel, Beatrice. IN, Contemporary Verse, March; THE ATHEIST, Contemporary Verse, March; THE HUMORISTS, Contemporary Verse, November, 1919; TO A POET, Contemporary Verse, March.
Raymund, Bernard. CAPRICE, The Midland, A Magazine of the Middle West, November-December, 1919; DECEMBER WOODS, The Midland, A Magazine of the Middle West, November-December, 1919; IF I GO DOWN, The Midland, A Magazine of the Middle West, November-December, 1919; WHITE MAGIC, The Midland, A Magazine of the Middle West, November-December, 1919.
Redfield, Louise. A SHY CHILD, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, April; AFTER FEVER, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, April.
Reed, John. FOG, Scribner's Magazine, August, 1919.
Reese, Lizette Woodworth. TO TIME (ON A FALSE LOVER), Contemporary Verse, July; OLD ELI, Contemporary Verse, July; I WEEP FOR HIM, Ainslee's Magazine, March; HER SON, Contemporary Verse, November, 1919.
Rich, H. Thompson. NOCTURNE —REMEETING, Ainslee's Magazine, December, 1919.
Richardson, Mabel Kingsley. A SHORT STORY, Contemporary Verse, October, 1919.
Ridge, Lola. AN OLD WORKMAN, The New Republic, May 19; CANARIES, Ainslee's Magazine, January; FRIENDS, Ainslee's Magazine, December, 1919; IN HARNESS, The New Republic, May 26; MY CARE, Ainslee's Magazine, March; NEW ORLEANS, The New Republic, May 12; THE SPOILER, Ainslee's Magazine, August, 1919; UNVEILING, Ainslee's Magazine, October, 1919, WIND IN THE ALLEYS, The New Republic, May 12.
Rittenhouse, Jessie B. THE QUEST, Harper's Magazine, May.
Rivola, Flora Shufelt. HEART-CRY, The Midland, A Magazine of the Middle West, Jyly-August, 1919; PROMISE, The Midland, A Magazine of the Middle West, July-August, 1919.
Roberts, Mary Eleanor. A POET IN THE CITY, Contemporary Verse, September, 1919; THE COQUETTE TO THE APPLE-EATER, Contemporary Verse, September, 1919.
Roberts, Walter Adolphe. AVE (MADAME OLGA PETROVA, Ainslee's Magazine, April; THE CELT, The Century Magazine, December, 1919; THE DREAMERS, Ainslee's Magazine, February; TIGER LILY, Ainslee's Magazine, November, 1919.
Robinson, Edwin Arlington. INFERENTIAL, The Dial, January; TACT, The Yale Review, January; THE WANDERING JEW, The Outlook, December 24, 1919.
Rodker, John. THE SEARCHLIGHT, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, October, 1919.
Roe, Robert J. LOVE, The New Republic, February 18; MOUNTAINS, The New Republic, December 31, 1919; THE CAPTAIN'S WIFE, The New Republic, March 17; THE ETERNAL BATTLE, Contemporary Verse, November, 1919; THE LINK, Contemporary Verse, November, 1919; WORSHIP, Contemporary Verse, November, 1919.
Rollins, Leighton. SONG AT DUSK, The Stratford Journal, October-December, 1919.
Roof, Katharine Metcalf. MIRAGE, Ainslee's Magazine, Ainslee's Magazine, December, 1919.
Root, E. Merrill. NIGHT ON THE RIVER, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, July; RAIN, Contemporary Verse, December, 1919; THE MOUNTAIN OF SKELETONS, Contemporary Verse, May.
Rorty, James. THE CONQUEROR, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, September, 1919.
Roth, Samuel. MOURNING, The Midland, A Magazine of the Middle West, July-August, 1919; SUNDOWN, The Midland, A Magazine of the Middle West, July-August, 1919; YOHRZ, The Nation, May 8.
Runnette, Mabel. TO A CARDINAL, Contemporary Verse, April.
S., T. J. AN ANSWER, The Catholic World, August, 1919.
Sabel, Marx G. AFTERNOON ON THE ST. JOHN'S, Contemporary Verse, July; APPEARANCES, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, October, 1919; INVIOLATE, Contemporary Verse, February; PASSING LOVE, Contemporary Verse, February; REFUTATION, Contemporary Verse, February; SONG FOR PRESUMPTUOUS SEARCHES AFTER LOVE, Contemporary Verse, February; THE PROPHECY, Contemporary Verse, February.
Sandburg, Carl. BAS-RELIEF, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, February; BROKEN-FACE GARGOYLES, The Dial, March; EVENING WATERFALL, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, February; FOUR PRELUDES ON PLAYTHINGS OF THE WIND, The New Republic, July 21, HATS, The Dial, March; JAZZ FANTASIA, The Dial, March; LOSERS, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, February; NIGHT-MOVEMENT — NEW YORK, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, February; PENNSYLVANIA, The Dial, March; PEOPLE WHO MUST, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, February; SEA-WASH, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, February; SMOKE AND STEEL, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, February; THE LAW SAYS, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, February; THE LAWYERS KNOW TOO MUCH, The Dial, January; THREE SPRING NOTATIONS ON BIPEDS, The Nation, May 15.
Sapir, Edward. FRENCH-CANADIAN FOLK-SONGS, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, July; GOD, Contemporary Verse, March; HELEN OF TROY, The New Republic, March 10; SULLEN SILENCE, The Pagan, April-May; THE DUMB SHEPHERDESS, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, July 19; THE HARVEST, The Nation, June 19; THE KING OF SPAIN'S DAUGHTER AND THE DIVER, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, July; THE PRINCE OF ORANGE, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, July; WHITE AS SNOW, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, July.
Sangster, Jr., Margaret E. THE SACRIFICE, Scribner's Magazine, December, 1919.
Sarett, Lew. CHIEF BEAR'S-HEART MAKES TALK,Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, November, 1919; CITIES, Nature Study Review, December, 1919; GOD IS AT THE ANVIL, The Farm Journal, February; LITTLE CARIBOU MAKES BIG TALK, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, November, 1919; RAIN SONG, AN ALGONQUIN MEDICINE SONG, The Stratford Journal, August, 1919; THE GREAT DIVIDE, The Argosy, May 24; THE LOON, American Forestry, May.
Sassoon, Siegfried. AN ALL-BRITISH SONNET (PEACE CELEBRATION), The New Republic, April 28; FIRST NIGHT: RICHARD III, The New Republic, March 17.
Schauffler, Robert Haven. A SOUL REMEMBERS, Contemporary Verse, January; DIVERS, The Outlook, June 9.
Scollard, Clinton. AN EPISTLE TO ALEXANDER POPE, Harper's Magazine, May.
Scott, Evelyn. AFTER YOUTH, The Dial, January; AUTUMN NIGHT, The Dial, January, CONSERVATISM, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, November, 1919; DEVIL'S CRADLE, The Dial, January; FEAR, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, November, 1919; IMMORALITY, The Dial, January; ISOLATION WARD, The Dial, January; LITTLE PIGS, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, November, 1919; MAIL ON THE RANCH, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, November, 1919; NARROW FLOWERS, The Dial, January; NEW MOON, The Dial, January; NIGHT, The Dial, January; RAINY SEASON, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, November, 1919; SHIP MASTS, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, November, 1919; THE CITY AT MIDNIGHT, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, November, 1919; THE DEATH OF COLUMBINE, The Dial, January; THE RED CROSS, The Dial, January; THE SILLY EWE, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, November, 1919; THE STORM, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, November, 1919; THE VAMPIRE BAT, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, November, 1919; THE YEAR, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, November, 1919; TROPIC MOON, The Dial, January; TROPICAL FLOWERS, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, November, 1919; TWENTY-FOUR HOURS, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, November, 1919; WINTER MOON, The Dial, January.
Seiffert, Marjorie Allen. CYTHAERA AND THE LEAVES, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, June; CYTHAERA AND THE SONG, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, June; CYTHAERA AND THE WORM, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, June; LORENZO'S BAS-RELIEF FOR A FLORENTINE CHEST, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, October, 1919; MAURA, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, October, 1919; NOVEMBER, Contemporary Verse, November, 1919; RESURRECTION, Contemporary Verse, January; THE GIVER, Contemporary Verse, January; TO AN ABSENT CHILD, Contemporary Verse, October, 1919; TWO DESIGNS, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, October, 1919.
Shanafelt, Clara. A DEATH,The New Republic, April 7; A DYNAMIC PERSONALITYThe New Republic, April 28; MAJOR,The New Republic, February 18.
Shepard, Odell. METEMPSYCHOSIS, Contemporary Verse, November, 1919.
Shore, Viola Brothers. BROWN ARMS, Ainslee's Magazine, 1919.
Sill, Louise Morgan. SONG IN SPRING, Harper's Magazine, April.
Simpson, William H. BURDENS, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, January; DANCE OF THE DUST WITCHES, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, January; DESERTED, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, January; GHOSTS, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, January; GRAND CANYON, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, January; HOPI MAIDEN, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, January; HOMESICK SONG, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, January; HOPI-TUH, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, January; NOVEMBER, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, January; PITY NOT, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, January; SHADOW FACES, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, January; THE NEW DAY, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, January; THE FOG GHOST, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, January; THE NORTH WOODS, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, January.
Simmons, Laura. AFFIRMATION, The Catholic World, January.
Skeen, Ruth Loomis. MARCH, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, March.
Slater, Mary White. RAIN, Contemporary Verse, March.
Slyke, Berenice Van. THE CIRCLE, Contemporary Verse, March.
Smertenko, J. J. HUNTER'S MONOTONE, The Nation, August 16, 1919.
Smith, Clark Ashton. IN NOVEMBER, Ainslee's Magazine, December, 1919; REQUIESCAT IN PACE, The Midland, A Magazine of the Middle West, May.
Smith, Lewis Worthington. A VASE FROM NIPPON, Contemporary Verse, January; ROOFS, Contemporary Verse, January; SALOME, Contemporary Verse, September, 1919.
Smith, Mrs. L. Worthington. THE SPOILS, The Stratford Journal, August, 1919.
Smith, Marion Couthouy. IN A CEMETERY, The Outlook, February 18.
Smith, Nora Archibald. MOVING PICTURES, The Stratford Journal, October-December, 1919.
Snow, Royall, A TRAGIC NOCTURNE, The Stratford Journal, October-December, 1919; BEACON, The Stratford Journal, October-December, 1919; NIGHTFALL, The Pagan, April-May; NIGHT-RAIN, The Stratford Journal, October-December, 1919.
Solomon, M. Walter. IMAGES JAPONAISES, The Pagan, April-May.
South, Ira. CARIBBEAN LULLABY, Scribner's Magazine, November, 1919; REGRET, Scribner's Magazine, November, 1919; THE JOKE, Scribner's Magazine, November, 1919; UNCERTAINTY, Scribner's Magazine, November, 1919; VALE, Scribner's Magazine, November, 1919; VICTORY, Scribner's Magazine, November, 1919; WISDOM, Scribner's Magazine, November, 1919.
Speight, E.S. DANGER, Harper's Magazine, May.
Speyer, Leonora. A GIFT, The Touchstone; CRICKETS AT DAWN, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, July; FIRST COMMUNION, Contemporary Verse, July; GOLD-FISH, Contemporary Verse, July; NEW MOON, Contemporary Verse, July; PAIN, The Freeman, SEKHMET THE LIONHEADED, Contemporary Verse, April; SKYWAY ROBBERY, Contemporary Verse, July; SPRING COWARDICE, Contemporary Verse, April; SUDDENLY, The Century Magazine, March; THE CONFIDANT, Contemporary Verse, July; THE LADDER, Reedy's Mirror; THE LAST MORNING IN THE COUNTRY, The Nation; THE LOCUST, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, July; THE SQUALL, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, July; THE WORKINGMAN (FROM THE GERMAN OF RICHARD DEHMEL), The Nation, July 19, 1919.
Spiller, Robert E. THE MOMENT, Contemporary Verse, March; THE ROAD, Contemporary Verse, March.
Spofford, Harriet Prescott. CADWALLADER, Harper's Magazine, January.
Stait, Virginia. HUNGER, Contemporary Verse, November, 1919.
Stanton, Stephen Berrien. LINCOLN MEMORIAL, Scribner's Magazine, October.
Starbuck, Victor. HOME-COMING, Harper's Magazine, December, 1919; RESURRECTION, Harper's Magazine, May.
Stark, Anne Campbell. TO ALICE, The Detroit Sunday News, May.
Stern, Benjamin. NEW-BORN BABE, Contemporary Verse, November, 1919.
Sterling, George. AFTERNOON, Ainslee's Magazine, May; AUTUMNAL LOVE, Ainslee's Magazine, September, 1919; THE MASQUE OF DREAM, TO RUTH CHATTERTON, Ainslee's Magazine, December, 1919.
Stetson, Marjorie Muir. NOVEMBER, The Pagan, April-May.
Stevens, Wallace. ANECDOTE OF THE JAR, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, October, 1919; BANAL SOJOURN, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, October, 1919; COLLOQUY WITH A POLISH AUNT, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, October, 1919; EXPOSITION OF THE CONTENTS OF A CAB, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, October, 1919; FABLIAU OF FLORIDA, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, October, 1919; HOMUNCULUS ET LA BELLE ETOILE, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, October, 1919; OF THE SURFACE OF THINGS, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, October, 1919; PETER PARASOL, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, October, 1919; PLOUGHING ON SUNDAY, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, October, 1919; THE WEEPING BURGHER, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, October, 1919; THE CURTAINS IN THE HOUSE OF THE METAPHYSICIAN, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, October, 1919; THE PALTRY NUDE STARTS ON A SPRING VOYAGE, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, October, 1919; THE PLACE OF THE SOLITAIRES, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, October, 1919; THE INDIGO GLASS IN THE GRASS, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, October, 1919.
Stewart, Clare D. CROSSING ON THE SEATTLE FERRY, Contemporary Verse, June.
Stewart, Luella. DESIRE, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, October, 1919.
Stockbridge, Dorothy, ENTREATY, Ainslee's Magazine, February.
Stockett, M. Letitia. DISCOVERY, Contemporary Verse, June; POMEGRANATES, Contemporary Verse, September, 1919; WEDDING SONG, Contemporary Verse, June.
Stork, Charles Wharton. THE FINAL GIFT, Ainslee's Magazine, December, 1919; BEAUTY, The Forum.
Strobel, Marion. ANTICIPATION, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, March; ENNUI, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, March; HANDS, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, March; LET ME PLAY NET, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, March; SPRING DAY, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, March;. THE LAST RITUAL, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse,March; TWO SONNETS, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, March.
Strong, Katharine. BOBOLINKS, Contemporary Verse, June.
Tagore, Rabindranath. LOVE LYRICS, Translated from the Original Bengali by Basanta Koomar Roy. The Stratford Journal, October-December, 1919.
Taggard, Genevieve. AN HOUR ON A HILL, Harper's Magazine, December, 1919; FROM THE SEA, Suggeted by a Hawaiian legend, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, June.
Tanaquil, Paul. MOONDOWN, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, May.
Taylor, Frances Beatrice. "MY GUESTS," Contemporary Verse, January.
Teasdale, Sara. COMPENSATION, The Bookman, April; DAY AND NIGHT, Scribner's Magazine, December, 1919; "I KNOW THE STARS," Harper's Magazine, August, 1919; "I THOUGHT OF YOU," The Bookman, March; IF DEATH IS KIND, The Century Magazine, March; IT IS NOT A WORD, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, September, 1919; JUNE NIGHT, The Bookman, March; "LIKE BARLEY BENDING," The Century Magazine, March; LOVELY CHANCE, Harper's Magazine, May; MY HEART IS HEAVY, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, September, 1919; "OH DAY OF FIRE AND SUN," The Bookman, March; SONG, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, September, 1919; SPRING TORRENTS, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, September, 1919; THE UNCHANGING, The Century Magazine, March; THE VOICE, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, September, 1919; THOUGHTS, The Century Magazine, November, 1919; WHAT DO I CARE? Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, September, 1919; WHEN DEATH IS OVER, The Bookman, March.
Thomas, Edith M. "I DREADED TO BE PITIED," Scribner's Magazine, June.
Thomson, O. R. Howard. PORTRAIT OF A MAN, IN MEMORIAM H. DOUGLAS SPAETH, Penna Grit, May 16; THE PROCESSION, Contemporary Verse, October, 1919.
Titus, Ira. MY FLOWER, The Wayfarer.
Tompkins, Eufina C. MIRAGE, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, February.
Torrence, Ridgely. THE APPLES, The Nation, January 3.
Towne, Charles Hanson. A BALLAD OF THE CIRCUS, The Century Magazine, April; CAROUSE, The Century Magazine, October, 1919.
Trapnell, Edna Valentine. INLAND, Contemporary Verse, March; THE NET, Contemporary Verse, March.
Treadwell, Sara. PAYMENT, Contemporary Verse, June.
Trimble, Chandler. RUTH, The Midland, A Magazine of the Middle West, July-August, 1919.
Trombly, Albert Edmund. AN AFTERWORD, Contemporary Verse, March; ASCETIC, The Stratford Journal, October-December, 1919; BABY-TONGUE, Contemporary Verse, September, 1919; THE THREE CHILDREN, FROM THE OLD FRENCH, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, July; TO MY SON, Contemporary Verse, September, 1919; A PINE SQUIRREL, The Texas Review, April; MRS. NEIGHBOR, The Texas Review, April; ORCHESTRAL, The Texas Review, April; SLEEPYHEAD, The Texas Review, April; SOARING AND GROVELLING, The Texas Review, April;. SMOKE, The Texas Review, April; TABLE WAITRESS, The Texas Review, April; THE RANCHMAN, The Texas Review, April.
Troth, John T. THE ULTIMATE TRYST, Contemporary Verse, March.
Troy, Daniel W. AS THE BAND GOES BY, Contemporary Verse, June.
Turbyfill, Mark. A SONG OF GIVERS AND TAKERS, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, October, 1919; CHICAGO, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, October, 1919; END OF SUMMER, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, October, 1919; JOURNEY, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, October, 1919.
Trusler, Harry Raymond. YOU, The Woman's World, December, 1919.
Tynan, Katharine. SONG OF GOING, The Catholic World, January.
Tytus, Grace S. H. THE VISION, Harper's Magazine, November, 1919.
Unna, Sarah. COMPLETION, Contemporary Verse, February; THE VICTORS, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, December, 1919.
Untermeyer, Louis. BEREAVED, Scribner's Magazine, February; MATINEE, The Dial, February; MOZART, The Yale Review, July; PORTRAIT OF REACTIONARY, The Yale Review, July; PORTRAIT OF AN OLD CATHEDRAL, The Yale Review, July; RETROSPECT, The Century Magazine, December, 1919; WALLS AGAINST EDEN, The New Republic, July 14; WITH A VOLUME OF HEINE, The Dial, February; AUCTION ANDERSON GALLERILS, The New Republic.
Updegraff, Allan. THE DAILY ROUND, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, February.
Upper, Joseph. QUESTIONNAIRE, Contemporary Verse, December, 1919.
Van Rensselaer, Mrs. Schuyler. OF SHAKESPEARE'S SONNETS TO "MR. W. H.," The Sonnet, September-October, 1919.
Vannah, Kate. HIS PROPHECY, Contemporary Verse, September, 1919.
Vedder, Miriam. YESTERDAY I TOLD THE TRUTH, Contemporary Verse, March.
Vines, Sherard. THE BULL, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, May.
Wagenhals, Margaret Hamilton. THE MUSIC BOX, Contemporary Verse, December, 1919.
Wagstaff, Blanche Shoemaker. GIFT, Ainslee's Magazine, May.
Waldron, Marion Patton. YOUR SOUL IN MY TWO HANDS, The Century Magazine, March.
Waley, Arthur, EARLY SNOW, A NO PLAY, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, March.
Walton, Eda Lou. FROM A PROMONTORY, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, May; I MET THREE LOVERS, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, May; INDIAN LOVE SONGS, Contemporary Verse, February; INDIAN PRAYER, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, May; MORNING AND NIGHT, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, May; NAVAJO SONGS, The Nation, April 17; ONE SPRING, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, May; PRAYER FOR HARVEST, Contemporary Verse, February; STRENGTH, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, May.
Warvelle, Effie Bangs. WINTER FLOWERS, Contemporary Verse, January.
Watson, Virginia. THE GALLEONS, Harper's Magazine, March.
Wattles, Willard. IN MEMORY, ROBERT CLAYTON WESTMAN OF MASSACHUSETTS DIED IN FRANCE, AUGUST 10, 1918, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, November, 1919; SISTER EUPHROSYNE, Contemporary Verse, March.
Weaver, John V. A. DRUG STORE, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, February; NOCTURNE, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, February.
Webster, Louise. AT CROSS-ROADS, Contemporary Verse, November, 1919; CLAIRAUDIENT, Contemporary Verse, November, 1919; DAWN, Contemporary Verse, November, 1919.
Welles, Winifred. A CHILD TO HER MOTHER, Contemporary Verse, October, 1919; DRIFTWOOD, Contemporary Verse, February; EXILE, The North American Review, May; GESTURE, The North American Review, September, 1919; RESEMBLANCE, Contemporary Verse, October, 1919; SECOND GROWTH, Harper's Magazine, January; SETTING FOR A FAIRY TALE, The North American Review, September, 1919.
Wells, Carolyn. THE DISAPPOINTED CENTIPEDE, Harper's Magazine, October, 1919.
Wentworth, C. ANTE AMOREM, Contemporary Verse, September, 1919.
Wharton, Edith. MISTRAL IN THE MAQUIS, The Yale Review, January; LYRICAl. EPIGRAMS, The Yale Review, January; THE YOUNG DEAD, The Yale Review, January.
Wheelock, John Hall. HUMAN, Scribner's Magazine, August, 1919; STORM AND SUN, Reddy's Mirror, August, 1919; MY LONELY ONE, The Freeman, July.
Whicher, George Meason. AN EPISTLE TO STEPHEN, Scribner's Magazine, March; FOR THE EIGHTH OF DECEMBER (THE BIRTHDAY OF HORACE), The Nation, Dec. 6, 1919.
White, Viola C. LIBERATED, The Stratford Journal, August, 1919.
Whitford, Robert Calvin. THE SEEKER, The Texas Review, October, 1919.
Widdemer, Margaret. OLD LOVE, Ainslee's Magazine, March; ON A CONTEMPORARY ANTHOLOGY, The Nation, Oct. 11, 1919.
Wilde, Georgia. THE ORE TRAIN, Contemporary Verse, November, 1919.
Wilkinson, Florence. HER DEATH, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, April; SPEECH, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, April; THE HOPE OF HEAVEN, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, April.
Wilkinson, Marguerite. AN OATH IN APRIL, Ainslee's Magazine, March; COLORS, Contemporary Verse, February; FOOD, Contemporary Verse, February; THIS SHALL BE THE BOND, Scribner's Magazine, January; TREES, Contemporary Verse, February; WEATHER, Contemporary Verse, February.
Willcox, Charles. A GARDEN IN WINTER, Contemporary Verse, February.
William, Oscar C. AT A CABARET, The Stratford Journal, October-December, 1919; DREAMS, Contemporary Verse, October, 1919; O LITTLE WAIF, Contemporary Verse, October 1919; RUMINATIONS, The Nation, Jan. 24.
Williams, W.W. STRIDING THE BLAST (CADET HIGGINSON MEDITATES), The Yale Review, July.
Williamson, William Hay. TO MY VALENTINE, The Woman's World, February.
Wilson, Arden M. "TIRED BUSINESS MEN," Contemporary Verse, June.
Wilson, Charlotte. VEILED MOONLIGHT, Scribner's Magazine, December, 1919.
Wilson, Jr., Edmund. GLUCK IN NEW YORK, The New Republic, Mar. 31.
Wilson, John French. A SONG AT ARMAGEDDON, June 2, 1917, Contemporary Verse, July; BLUE MOONLIGHT, Contemporary Verse, July; MOONLIGHT, Contemporary Verse, July; RAIN, Contemporary Verse, July; SONNET, Contemporary Verse, July; THE CAPTIVE, Contemporary Verse, July; WINTER AFTERNOON, Contemporary Verse, July.
Winke, Charles H. THE FOREST FIRES, American Poetry Magazine, September, 1919.
Winsor, Mary. THE MAY KING (DEDICATED TO A. MITCHELL PALMER), The New Republic, June 2.
Winters, A. Y. CONCERNING BLAKE, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, September, 1919; LITTLE RABBIT, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, September, 1919; MONTEZUMA, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, September, 1919; ON THE MESA, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, September, 1919; THE OLD WEEP GENTLY, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, September, 1919; WILD HORSES, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, September, 1919.
Wister, Mary Channing. AFTER THE CONCERT, Contemporary Verse, October, 1919.
Wright, Harold Holston. A LETTER, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, April; KINSHIP, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, April; PASTEL, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, April.
Wyck, William van. SONNET, Ainslee's Magazine, October, 1919.
Wylie, Elinor. "LES LAURIER SONT COUPES," Contemporary Verse, May.
Yeats, Wiiliam Butler. A PRAYER FOR MY DAUGHTER, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, November, 1919.
Zaturensky, Marya. A GHETTO POET, The New Republic, June 30; A RUSSIAN EASTER, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, April; A SONG OF PARTING, Ainslee's Magazine, November,1919; INVOCATION, Contemporary Verse, September, 1919; RUSSIAN PEASANTS, Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, April; THE FOUR HORSEMEN, Contemporary Verse, September, 1919.
ARTICLES AND REVIEWS OF POETS AND
POETRY PUBLISHED DURING
1919—1920
POETRY PUBLISHED DURING
1919—1920
Aiken, Conrad. Two Views of Contemporary Poetry. The Yale Review, January.
Body and Raiment (Review of Mrs. Tietjens' book). Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, February.
Idiosyncrasy and Tradition (Poems of Francis Ledwidge). The Dial, March.
Two Views of Contemporary Poetry. The Yale Review, January.
Adams, Franklin P. Next to Reading Matter. The New Republic, Mar. 24.
Aldington, Richard. A London Letter (on Poets and Poetry). Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, January.
A Book for Literary Philosophers. (Ezra Pound). Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, July.
Campion's "Observations." Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, February.
English and American. Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, May.
Recent French Poetry. Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, October, 1919.
Alexander, Hartley Burr. The Poetry of the American Indian. The Nation, Dec. 13, 1919.
Ambram, Beulah B. Heine and the Germans. The North American Review, January.
Anderson, John Davis.In Praise of the Greatness of Thomas Hardy. The Boston Transcript, June 2.
Anon. Masefield's Yarn of the Sea ("Enslaved,"). The New York Times Review of Books, July 11.
Hilda Conkling. The Christian Science Monitor, June 30.
The Poets and the Peace. The Nation, Oct. 4, 1919.
A Unique Collection of Chinese Verse. The N.Y. Times Book Review, Aug. 24, 1919.
Young America and Milton. Scribner's Magazine, June.
Five Recent Volumes of Verse (Ballads of Old New York, Golden Whales of California, Songs of the Cattle Trail and Cow Camp, Songs of Seeking and Finding, Hail, Man). The Outlook, Apr. 21.
A Belated Review (Don Marquis). The Outlook, Feb. 18.
Christopher Morley. The Outlook, Feb. 4.
A Poet's Birthday (Edwin Arlington Robinson). The Outlook, Dec. 24, 1919.
A Triangle of Poets, (Masefield, Amy Lowell, John Drinkwater). The Outlook, Dec. 3, 1919.
The New Era in American Poetry. The Outlook, Aug. 27, 1919.
Kipling's latest Word. The Outlook, Sept. 24, 1919.
Beers, Henry A. The Singer of the Old Swimmin' Hole (James Whitcomb Riley). The Yale Review, January.
Benét, William Rose. Importry and Exportry. Harper's Magazine, January.
Blackwell, Alice Stone. A Spanish-American Poet. The Stratford Journal,August, 1919.
Black, John. Walt Whitman: Fiction-Writer and Poets' Friend. The Bookman,April.
1920: The Minor Poet's Centenary Year. The Bookman,May.
Blum, W. G. Rimbaud as Magician. The Dial,June.
Bunker, John. A New English Poet. The Bookman,January.
Burr, Amelia Josephine. The Expanded Interest in Poetry. September, 1919.
Butler, Ellis Parker. A New Poet of Nature. The Bookman,April.
Bodenheim, Maxwell. Modern Poetry. The Dial, January.
The Poetry Quibble. The North American Review,November, 1919.
Bradford, Gamaliel, Portrait of Sidney Lanier. The North American Review, June.
Braithwaite, William Stanley. The Lyric Quality of Robert Hillyer. The Boston Transcript, June 5.
A Poetical Voice from the Wilderness. The Boston Transcript, Mar. 6.
A Year-Round Treasury of Child Verse (Annette's Wynne's "For Days and Days"). The Boston Transcript,Oct. 18, 1919.
The Personality of Cecil Roberts. The Boston Transcript, Jan. 24.
A Lyrical Voice from Missouri (George O'Neil). The Boston Transcript, Feb. 21.
The Arthurian Legend in Poetry (E. A. Robinson's "Lancelot"). The Boston Transcript, June 12.
A Poet with the Harvard Hall Mark (Ernest Benshimol). The Boston Transcript, June 19.
The Poetic Advance of Francis Carlin. The Boston Transcipt, May 22.
The Romantic Lore of the Red Man (Lew Sarett's "Many, Many Moons"). The Boston Transcript, May 8.
The Golden Whales of California (Vachel Lindsay), The Boston Transcript, Apr. 17.
The Art of a Young American Poet (Winifred Welles). The Boston Transcript,Apr. 3.
Siegfried Sassoon's Grim Irony. The Boston Transcript,Apr. 24.
A Spiritual Biography (Jacopone da Todi. Poet and Mystic—1228-1306). The Boston Transcript,March 13.
A Bay for E. A. Robinson. The Brooklyn Eagle,Mar. 27.
Carnevali, Emanuel. Irritation (A Pounding of Pound). Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, January.
Chew, Samuel C. A Poet Turns Critic (Sir Henry Newbolt's "A New Study of English Poetry"). The Yale Review, July.
Cloyd, Eunice. Caliban's Love-Making (review of Aiken's "Scepticism"). Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, February.
Cline,.Leonard Lanson. Three Anthologies of Modern Verse. The Detroit Sunday News, Apr. 18.
Courtney, Mrs. W. S. Lesser Literary Lights (Felicia Hemans, Caroline Bowles and Charlotte Smith). The North American Review, June.
Carret, M. Baudelaire Translated. The New Republic, June 9.
Colum, Padraic. Amy Lowell and the Poetry of Pictures. The New Republic, July 7.
Three Younger Poets (Francis Ledwidge, George O'Neil, Scudder Middleton). The New Republic, Apr. 7.
D., C. V. Tragedy in Camelot (E. A. Robinson's "Lancelot"). The Nation, May 8.
De Casseres, Benjamin. The Poems of Herbert French. The Bookman, March; Van Nopper, Homer of Our Fleet, The Bookman, September, 1919.
Deutsch, Babette. Eastern Lights ("Colored Stars, Versions of Fifty Asiatic Poems," "Black Marigolds," by E. Powys Mathers). The Dial, March.
Free Verse and Certain Strictures. The Bookman, January.
A New Light on Lancelot (E. A. Robinson), Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, July.
Delgado, Frederick Pearce. Louis Bertrand, A Study in Artistic Personality. The North American Review, June.
Drinkwater, John. The Full Circle of Masefield's Art. The Yale Review, April.
Dunn, Esther Cloudman. Longfellow the Teacher. The North American Review, February.
"E. A." —A Milestone for America (Percy MacKaye). The North American Review, January.
Ervine, St. John. W. B. Yeats —II (Some Impressions of My Elders). The North American Review, March.
Yeats (Some Impressions of My Elders). The North American Review, January.
John Drinkwater. The North American Review, November, 1919.
Elliott, G. R. The Neighborliness of Robert Frost. The Nation, Dec. 6, 1919.
Fletcher, John Gould. Thomas Hardy's Poetry, An American View. Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, April.
The Structure of Chinese Poetry (Arthur Waley's translations from the Chinese). The Dial, February.
Fuller, Henry B. The American Image. Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, March.
Freer, Agnes. Cammærts Again. Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, September, 1919.
Garrison, Theodosia. Ella Wheeler Wilcox, The Woman. The Bookman, January.
Gammans, Harold W. Rhythmus and the Writer. The Writer' s Monthly, January.
Gorman, Herbert S. The Various Bynner. The New York Evening Post Book Review (Poetry Number), June 19.
Georgians These, Not Cavaliers (Graves, Lawrence, Some Soldier Poets). The New York Times Book Review, July 4.
A Few Remarks About Newspaper Verse. The Writer's Monthly, November, 1919.
Edwin Arlington Robinson, and a Talk With Him. N.Y. Sun Books and Book World, Jan. 4.
Goldring, Douglas. James Elroy Flecker (An Appreciation and Some Personal Memories). The Dial, May.
Gibbs, A. Hamilton. Poets of the New Patriotism. The New Republic, Mar. 17.
Greene, Constance Murray. Poetry Books Manifold. The Bookman, February.
Hackett, Francis. Reynard the Fox (John Masefield). The New Republic, Jan. 7.
Hartley, Marsden. The Business of Poetry. Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, December, 1919.
Harper, George McLean. French Feeling in War Poetry. The Yale Review, January.
Henderson, Alice Corbin. A Note on Primitive Poetry. Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, September, 1919.
Science and Art Again. Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, January.
An Irish Harp (Norreys Jephson O'Conor). Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, September, 1919.
Hubbell, J. B. Wordsworth, Imagist. The New York Evening Post Book Review (Poetry Number), June 19.
Hughes, Helen Sard, Making Heaven Safe for Democracy. (An interesting essay on political and patriotic hymnology.) The Dial, January.
Jenckes, Jr., E. N. Limitations of Free Verse, The Writer's Monthly, February.
K., A. Comedy Over Tragedy (Marjorie A. Seiffert). Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, July.
Kelly, Mus. D., F. J. Shakespeare and the Art of Music. The Catholic World, January.
Kreymborg, Alfred. Touring America on Pegasus. Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, May.
Lawrence, D. H. The Poetry of the Present; The New York Evening Post Book Review (Poetry Number), June 19.
Lappin, Henry A. Poetry, Verse, and Worse. The Bookman, April.
A New American Poet. The Bookman, November-December, 1919.
Lewisohn, Ludwig. Richard Dehmel. The Nation, Mar. 6.
Lowell, Amy. Mr. Lindsay's Latest Venture. The New York Times Book Review, May 16.
Loving, Pierre. The Tragedy of Horace Traubel. The New York Evening Post Book Review (Poetry Number), June 19.
Long, Haniel. Mr. Bynner's Philosophy of Love. Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, February.
L., R. Charles Sorley (Letters). The New Republic, July 21.
MacBeath, Francis J. With Poets New and Old. The Writer's Monthly, September-October, 1919.
McCourtie, William B. If I Were a Young Poet. The Writer's Monthly, December, 1919.
Marks, Jeannette. Swinburne: A Study in Pathology. The Yale Review, January.
Maynard, Theodore. The Poetry of Charles Williams. The North American Review, September, 1919.
The Chesterbelloc. The Catholic World, November-December, 1919, January-February.
Monahan, Michael. Edwin Markham's Poetry, The Stratford Journal, September, 1919.
Monroe, Harriet. Two Child Poets (Hilda Conkling, and Katherine Bull). Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, July.
Dr. Chubb on the Platform (Comments on Dr. Paul Shorey lecture on poets and poetry). Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, July. What Next? (Reflections on "Poetry" Seventh Birthday). Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, October, 1919.
Waley's Translations from the Chinese. Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, March.
Those We Refuse (an editor's confession concerning verse-rejections). Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, March.
Mr. Yeats and the Poetic Drama. Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, April.
Mr. Robinson's Jubilee (on the occasion of Edwin Arlington Robinson's fiftieth birthday). Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, February.
Miss Cromwell's Poems. Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, May.
King George's Poets. Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, May.
In the Old Fashion (Walter de la Mare). Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, September, 1919.
Celestial Jazz (Mr. Lindsay's "Golden Whales of California"). Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, May.
A Scientist's Challenge. Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, December, 1919.
A Lincoln Primer (Drinkwater's "Lincoln"). Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, December, 1919.
A Lover of Earth (Mr. Wheelock's "Dust and Light"'). Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, March.
Morley, Christopher. Walter de la Mare on Rupert Brooke. The Bookman, April.
Munsterberg, Margarete. Santayana. The Nation, July 5, 1919.
Francis Thompson, A Poet's Poet. The Catholic World, September, 1919.
Netzer, A. May. The Poetry of Ernest Dowson. The Texas Review, April.
Neff, Marietta. The Place of Henley. The North American Review, April.
Nicholl, Louise Townsend. Three Months of Poetry. The New York Evening Post Book Review, (Poetry Number),June 19.
Oppenheim, James. One of Our Sun-Gods (Walt Whitman). The Dial, May.
Poetry — Our First National Art. The Dial, February.
O'Hagan, Thomas. French-Canadian Poets and Poetry. The Catholic World, December, 1919.
Passos, John Dos. Antonio Machado: Poet of Castile. The Dial, June.
Peck, H. W. The Criticism of Poetry. The Mid-West Quarterly, January.
Powys, John Cowper. The Actual Walt Whitman. The New York Evening Post Book Review (Poetry Number),June 19.
Purdie, Albert B. Macbeth — A Study in Sin. The Catholic World, November, 1919.
Quinn, Arthur Hobson. Pilgrim and Puritan in Literature. Scribner's Magazine, May.
Reilly, Ph. D. Joseph J. A Keltic Poe (Fitz-James O'Brien). The Catholic World, March.
Ridge, Lola. Covered Roads. (Study of Robert Frost). The New Republic, June 23.
Rueffner, Louise M. The Poet and the City. A Characteristic Tendency of the Modern Muse. The New York Evening Post Book Review (Poetry Number), June 19.
Roosevelt, Kermit. Edwin Arlington Robinson. Scribner's Magazine, December, 1919.
R., O. Gladys Cromwell's Poems. The New Republic, Mar. 10.
Roth, Samuel. Edwin Arlington Robinson. The Bookman, January.
Royster, James Finch. Mr. Alfred Noyes and the Literary Rebels. The Texas Review, October, 1919.
S., M. A. The Floating World (review of Miss Lowell's latest book). Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, March.
Rare Air (G. P. Warren). Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, January.
Sapir, Edward. Note on French-Canadian Folk-Songs. Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, July.
Schauffler, Margaret Widdemer. In the Treatment of Poets. The Bookman, November-December, 1919
Scott, Evelyn. Emilio de Menezes (Brazilian Poet). Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, April.
Seiffert, Marjorie Allen. Starved Rock (E. L. Masters). Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, June.
Soldier and Lover (Richard Aldington). Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, September, 1919.
Shanks, Edward. An English Lyrist (J. C. Squire). The Dial, January.
Shay, Frank. Whitman's Publishers. The New York Evening Post Book Review, (Poetry Number), June 19.
Sinclair, May. The Reputation of Ezra Pound. The North American Review, May.
Smith, Geddes. Reynard the Fox. The New Republic, Jan. 7.
Strobel, Marion. Out of the Den (Siegfried Sassoon). Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, June.
Perilous Leaping.Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, June.
Stanton, Theodore. French War Poetry. The Mid-West Quarterly, January.
Stork, Charles Wharton. Review of Magazine Verse of Year. Philadelphia Public Ledger, Dec. 28, 1919.
Recent Verse, The Yale Review, April.
Symons, Arthur. Baudelaire and His Letters. The North American Review, September, 1919.
A Jester with Genius (Oscar Wilde). The Bookman, April.
Coventry Patmore. The North American Review, February.
Thomas Hardy. The Dial, January.
Taketomo, Torao. American Imitations of Japanese Poetry. The Nation, Jan. 17.
Tinker, Chauncey B. British Poetry Under Stress of War. The Yale Review, July.
Swinburne Once More. The Yale Review, January.
Trombly, Albert Edmund. Rossetti Studies: The Lyric. The South Atlantic Quarterly, October, 1919.
Trueblood, Charles. K. Skepticism as Illumination, (Aiken's "Scepticisms: Notes on Contemporary Poetry"). The Dial, April.
Untermeyer, Louis. The Hesitant Heart (by Winifred Welles). The New Republic, June 30.
A Note on the Poetry of Love. The New Republic, May 26.
Woodrovian Poetry, 1922-1923. The New Republic, Dec. 24, 1919.
"Sweetness and Light." The Dial, April.
The Lyric Line (John Hall Wheelock's "Dust and Light"). The Bookman, March.
Aftermath (Picture Show, by S. Sassoon). The New Republic, Mar. 3.
Van Dyke, Henry. Poems of Robert Underwood Johnson. The Boston Transcript, Feb. 14.
Vanderpyl, Fritz R. Art and Eiffel Towers. Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, May.
Wyatt, Edith. Whitman and Anne Gilchrist. The North Amercian Review, September, 1919.
Kipling Today. Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, February.
Whicher, George F. Edward Thomas. The Yale Review, April.
Wilkinson, Marguerite.Poetry of Last Year and Today, Mar. 28.
VOLUMES OF POEMS PUBLISHED
DURING 1919-1920
DURING 1919-1920
Adams, Franklin P.Something Else Again. Doubleday, Page and Co.
Allen, William Frederick.Monographs,The Four Seas Co.
Andrews, John. Editor: The Yale Book of Student Verse. With an Introduction by Charlton M. Lewis. Yale University Press.
Babcock, William H.Legends of the New World. Richard G. Badger.
Bailey, John.A Day-Book of Walter Savage Landor.Oxford University Press.
Barker, Helen Granville. Songs in Cities and Gardens. G. P. Putman's Sons.
Barney, Danforth.Chords from Albireo. With a Foreword by Lawrence Mason. John Lane Co.
Barr, Amelia E.Songs in the Common Chord. With an Introduction by Joseph C. Lincoln. D. Appleton and Co.
Barrett, Wilton Agnew. Songs from the Journey.George H. Doran Co.
Benét, Stephen Vincent. Editor: The Yale Book of Student Verse. With an Introduction by Charlton M. Lewis. Yale University Press.
Bennet, Raine.After the Day. A Collection of Post-War Impressions. With an Introduction by George Douglas. The Stratford Co.
Bennett, Marguerite Hope. Prelude. The Neale Publishing Co.
Benshimol, Ernest, Tomorrow's Yesterday. Small, Maynard and Co.
Boni, Albert. The Modern Book of French Verse. In English Translations by Chaucer, Francis, Thompson, Swinburne, Arthur Symons, Robert Bridges, John Payne, and others. Boni and Liveright.
Bowman, Archibald Allen. Sonnets from a Prison Camp. John Lane Co.
Brady, E. J. The House of the Winds. Dodd, Mead and Co.
Braithwaite, William Stanley. The Book of Modern British Verse. Small, Maynard and Co. Anthology of Magazine Verse for 1919 and Year Book of American Poetry. Small, Maynard and Co.
Buck, Howard. The Tempering (in Yale Series of Younger Poets). Yale University Press.
Burt, Maxwell Struthers. Songs and Portraits. Charles Scribner's Sons.
Cabot, Elise Pumpelly. Arizona, and Other Poems. E. P. Dutton and Co.
Carlin, Francis. The Cairn of Stars. Henry Holt and Co.
Carter, Laura Armistead. Wind and Blue Water. The Cornhill Co.
Chanler, Alida.Songs and Sonnets. The Cornhill Co.
Claudel, Paul. Three Poems of the War. Translated into English Verse by Edward J. O'Brien. Yale University Press.
Clinton, Scollard. War Voices and Memories. Being Verses Written During the Years 1817-18-19. James T. White Co.
Coles, Rutgers Remsen. Rapid and Still Water. The Stratford Co.
Cone, Helen Gray. The Coat Without a Seam. E. P. Dutton and Co.
Conkling, Grace Hazard. Wilderness Songs. Henry Holt and Co.
Conkling, Hilda. Poems by a Little Girl. Preface by Amy Lowell. Frederick A. Stokes Co.
Coutts, Francis. The Spacious Times, and Other Poems. John Lane Co.
Cromwell, Gladys. Poems. With an Introduction by Padraic Colum. The Macmillan Co.
Crowell, Joshua Freeman. Outdoors and In. The Four Seas Co.
Cushman, Silvia. Facts and Fancies.Published by the Author.
Davidson, Gustav.Songs of Adoration. New York: The Madrigal.
Davies, Mary Carolyn. Youth Riding. The Macmillan Co.
de Acosta, Mercedes. Moods. Prose Poems. Moffat, Yard and Co.
de la Mare, Walter. A Book of Drawings by Pamelia Blanco, with Illustrative Poems by Walter de la Mare. J.B. Lippincott Co.
DeStein, E. The Poets in Picardy. E. P. Dutton and Co.
Dougall, Lily. Acades Ambo. Longmans, Green and Co.
Doyle, Sir Arthur Conan. The Guards Came Through, and Other Poems. George H. Doran Co.
Edwards, Arthur M. The Conversation of Kaiser William, or Antitoxin to Prussian Propaganda. Published by the Author.
Eddy, Ruth Basset. Altar Fires. The Cornhill Co.
Eliot, T. S. Poems. Alfred A. Knopf.
Enlow, Lucile C.The Heart of a Girl. The Stratford Co.
Farrar, John Chipman. Forgotten Shrines. (Yale Series of Younger Poets.) Yale University Press.
Farrar, John C. Editor. The Yale Book of Student Verse. With an Introduction by Charlton M. Lewis. Yale University Press.
Fleur-De-Lys. A Book of French Poetry Freely Translated into English Verse, with an Introduction and Notes by Wilfrid Thorley. Houghton Mifflin Co.
Georgian Poetry 1918-1919. G. P. Putman's Sons.
Guiterman, Arthur. Ballads of Old New York. Harper and Brothers.
Hamilton, Mary Gertrude.Lights and Shadows. The Stratford Co.
Harbert, Blanche E. The Good Cheer Book (Anthology). Lothrop, Lee and Shepard Co.
Hawkins, Walter Everette. Chords and Discords. Richard G. Badger.
Herbert, A. P. The Bomber Gipsy, and Other Poems. Alfred A. Knopf.
Hillyer, Robert. The Five Books of Youth. Brentano's.
Holloway, John Wesley. From the Desert. The Neale Publishing Co.
Hooker, Brian.A. D. 1919. A Commemorative Poem. Set to Music by Horatio Parker. Yale University Press.
Hough, Lynn Harold. Flying Over London. The Abington Press.
Hughes, Adelaide Manola. Diantha Goes the Primrose Way. Harper and Brothers.
Hughs, Fannie May Barbee. Fragments. Essays and Poems. Boston: Christopher Publishing House.
Johns, Orrick, Black Branches. A Book of Poems and Plays. New York Pagan Publishing Co.
Johnson, Robert Underwood. Poems, 1881-1919. Yale University Press.
Jones, Herbert. The Well of Being. John Lane Co.
Jones, Joshua Henry. The Heart of the World. The Stratford Co.
Jordan, Clarence Lumpkin. Trench Tales. The Neale Publishing Co.
Keith, Henrietta Jewett. Four O'Clocks. Minneapolis, Minn. Augsburg Publishing House.
Keeler, Charles. Sequoia Sonnets. Published at the Sign of the Live Oak, Berkeley, Cal.
Kerr, R. Watson. War Daubs: Poems. John Lane Co.
Kip, A. L. Poems. G. P. Putnam's Sons.
Kipling, Rudyard. Verse, Inclusive Edition 1885-1918. Doubleday, Page and Co.
Koopman, Harry Lyman. Hesperia. An American National Poem, I-VI. The Preston and Rounds Co., Providence, R. I.
Krauth, Charles Philip. Ahno. The Cornhill Co.
Kyger, John Fremont. No-Wa-Na. An Indian Tale Told in Verse. Chicago: Front Publishing Co.
Lanouette, Joseph Edward. Jean Rivard. The Cornhill Co.
Ledwidge, Francis. Complete Poems. With Introductions by Lord Dunsany. Brentano's.
Lincoln, Elliot C. Rhymes of a Homesteader. Houghton Mifflin Co.
Lindsay, Vachel. The Golden Whales of California and Other Rhymes in the American Language. The Macmillan Co.
Lomax, John A. Songs of the Cattle Trail and Cow Camp (Collection). With a Foreword by William Lyon Phelps. The Macmillan Co.
Low, Mary Cromwell. The Lode Star. James T. White Co.
McCloskey, George. V. A.Lyrics. The Neale Publishing Co.
McManus, Joseph D. The Might of Manhattan. New York: Charles Francis Press.
MacKaye, Percy. Rip Van Winkle. Folk-Opera in Three Acts. Music by Reginald de Koven. Alfred A. Knopf.
Mann, Dorothea Lawrance. An Acreage of Lyric. The Cornhill Co.
Marsh, Elizabeth H. Body and Soul. The Cornhill Co.
Masefield, John. The Everlasting Mercy and the Widow in the Bye Street (Illustrated Edition). The Macmillan Co.
Miles, Susan. Dunch. Longmans, Green and Co.
Millen, William A. Songs of the Irish Revolution, and Songs of the Newer Ireland. The Stratford Co.
Misrow, Sri Jogesh Chander.Usha Songita Songs of the Dawn. With an Introduction. Chicago: Published by theAuthor.
Morgan, Angela. Hail, Man! John Lane Co.
Nelson, Dora. A Farm in Picardy. The Cornhill Co.
O'Neil, George. The Cobbler in Willow Street. Boni and Liveright.
Palamas, Kostes. Life Immovable. First Part. Translated with Introduction and Notes, by Aristides E. Phoutrides. Harvard University Press.
Poems of Tennyson. Chosen and Edited by Henry van Dyke. Charles Scribner's Sons.
Poems of John R.. Thompson. Edited with a Biographical Introduction by John S. Patton. Charles Scribner's Sons.
Pratt, Harry Noyes. Hill Trails and Open Sky. A Book of California Verse. San Francisco: Harr Wagner Publishing Co.
Proudfoot, Andrea Hofer. Trolley Lines. Ralph Fletcher Seymour.
Pushkin, Alexander Sergyeyevich. Boris Godunov. A Drama in Verse. Rendered into English Verse by Alfred Hayes, with Preface by C. Nabokoff. E. P. Dutton and Co.
Roberts, Cecil. Poems. With a Preface by John Masefield. Frederick A. Stokes Co.
Robinson, Edwin Arlington. Lancelot. Thomas Seltzer.
Roth, Samuel. Europe: A Book for America. Boni and Liveright.
Ryan, Agnes. A Whisper of Fire. The Four Seas Co.
Sampter, Jessie E. The Coming of Peace. New York: Publishers Printing Co.
Sanger, Jr. William Cary. Verse. G. P. Putman's Sons.
Sangster, Margaret E. Cross Roads. New York: Frank F. Lovell.
Sarett, Lew, Many Many Moons. Henry Holt and Co.
Sassoon, Siegfried. Picture-Show. E. P. Dutton and Co.
Seiffert, Marjorie Allen. A Woman of Thirty, and Poems by Elijah Hay. Alfred A. Knopf.
Seymour, W. Kean. Editor. A Miscellany of British Poetry, 1919. Harcourt, Brace and Howe.
Shanks, Edward. The Queen of China, and other Poems. Alfred A. Knopf.
Sharpe, Theodore. My Place in the Shade, and Various Verse. Richard G. Badger.
Sheldon, Gilbert. Acades Ambo. Longmans, Green and Co.
Sieveking, Captain L. de G. Dressing Gowns and Glue. With an Introduction about the Verses by G. K. Chesterton. Harcourt, Brace and Howe.
Steel, Willis. Parerga. New York: McElvoy Co.
Steiner, Rudolph. Four Mystery Plays. 2 vols. G. P. Putman's Sons.
Still, John. Poems in Captivity. John Lane Co.
Tebbutt, A. E. Russian Lyrical Poetry. An Anthology of the Best Nineteenth Century Lyrics. Selected, and Arranged with Notes. E. P. Dutton and Co.
Temple, Ana. The Kneeling Camel, and Other Poems. Moffat, Yard and Co.
The Poems of Gilbert White. With an Introduction by Sir Herbert Warren. The Macmillan Co.
Tucker, Allen. There and Here. Duffield and Co.
Turner, W. J. The Dark Wind. E. P. Dutton and Co.
Underwood, Edna Worthley.Moons of Nippon. Translations from Poets of Old Japan. Ralph Fletcher Seymour.
Underwood, Pierson. Editor. The Yale Book of Student Verse. With an Introduction by Charlton M. Lewis. Yale University Press.
Untermeyer, Louis. Modern American Poetry (Anthology). Harcourt, Brace and Howe.
Valour and Vision. Poems of the War 1914-1918. Arranged and Edited by Jacqueline T. Trotter. Longmans, Green and Co.
Van Dyke, Tertius. Songs of Seeking and Finding. Charles Scribner's Sons.
Vansittart, Robert. The Singing Caravan. A Sufi Tale. George H. Doran Co.
Vernon, Lucile. Mephistopheles Puffeth the Sun Out. The Stratford Co.
Von Hofmannsthal, Hugo. The Death of Titian. Translated from the German by John Head, Jr. The Four Seas Co.
Waley, Arthur. More Translations from the Chinese. Alfred A. Knopf.
Walsh, Thomas. Don Folquet and Other Poems. John Lane Co.
Welles, Winifred. The Hesitant Heart. B. W. Huebsch.
Wentworth, Edward C. Scattered Leaves. From My Diary, 1915-1919. Chicago: Published by the Author.
Whitcomb, George Faunce. Eagle Quills. The Cornhill Co
Whitin, Cora Berry. Wounded Words. The Four Seas Co.
Widdemer, Margaret. The Haunted Hour.An Anthology. Harcourt, Brace and Howe.
Wood, Clement. Jehovah. E. P. Dutton and Co.
Woodberry, George Edward. The Roamer, and Other Poems. Harcourt, Brace and Howe.
Yanks A. E. F. in Verse. Originally Published in The Stars and Stripes. G. P. Putman's Sons
A SELECT LIST OF BOOKS ABOUT POETS AND POETRY
Aiken, Conrad. Skepticism. Notes on Contemporary Poetry. Alfred A. Knopf.
Bazalgette, Leon. Walt Whitman. The Man and His Work. Translated from the French by Ellen FitzGerald. Doubleday, Page and Co.
Bradford, Gamaliel. Portraits of American Women (Emily Dickinson). Houghton Mifflin Co.
Bridgman, Helen Bartlett. Within My Horizon (includes recollections of American poets). Small, Maynard and Co.
Bugbee, Lucius H. Flutes of Silence (Verses by Emily Bugbee). The Methodist Book Concern.
Campbell, Oscar James. The Position of the Roode En Witte Roos in the Saga of King Richard III. The University Of Wisconsin.
Cotterill, H. B. Italy fron Dante to Tasso. Frederick A. Stokes Co.
Davies, Trevor H. Spiritual Voices in Modern Literature (Ibsen, Francis Thompson, Tennyson, etc.). George H. Doran Co.
de la Mare, Walter. Rupert Brooke and the Intellectual Imagination. Harcourt, Brace and Howe.
Furness, Horace Howard. "The Gloss of Youth." An Imaginary Episode in the Lives of William Shakespeare and John Fletcher. J. B. Lippincott Co.
The Life and Death of King John. New Variorum Edition of Shakespeare. J. B. Lippincott Co.
Gardner, Charles. William Blake, The Man. E. P. Dutton and Co.
Gerould, Katharine Fullerton.Modes and Morals (chapter on Kipling). Charles Scribner's Sons.
Goldberg, Isaac. Studies in Spanish-American Literature. With an Introduction by Prof. J. D. M. Ford. Brentano's.
Instigations of Ezra Pound. Together with an Essay on the Chinese Written Character by Ernest Fenollosa. Boni and Liveright.
Jackson, A. V. Williams. Early Persian Poetry. From the Beginning Down to the Time of Firdausi. The Macmillan Co.
Keiser, Albert.The Influence of Christianity on the Vocabulary of Old English Poetry. Published by the University of Illinois.
Kernahan, Coulson. Swinburne as I Knew Him. With Some Unpublished Letters from the Poet to his Cousin the Hon. Lady Henniker Heaton. John Lane Co.
Magnus, Laurie. A General Sketch of European Literature. In the Centuries of Romance (includes studies of poetry). E. P. Dutton and Co.
Mitchell, Roy. Shakespeare for Community Players. E. P. Dutton and Co.
Olgin, Moissaye J. A Guide to Russian Literature, 1820-1917. Harcourt, Brace and Howe.
Prescott, F. C. Poetry and Dreams. The Four Seas Co.
Smith, G. Gregory. Ben Jonson. English Men of Letters Series. The Macmillan Co.
The Letters of Charles Sorley. With a Chapter of Biography. The Macmillan Co.
Underhill, Evelyn. Jacopone da Todi. Poet and Mystic. E. P. Dutton and Co.
Van Dyke, Henry. Studies in Tennyson. Charles Scribner's Sons.
Ward, Sir A. W. Shakespeare and the Makers of Virginia. Annual Shakespeare Lecture, the British Academy. Yale University Press.
Whibley, Charles. Literary Studies (including poetic studies). The Macmillan Co.
Wilde, Oscar. A Critic in Pall Mall. Reviews and Miscellanies. G. P. Putman's Sons.
Williams, Stanley T. The Life of Timon of Athens. The Yale Shakespeare Series. Yale University Press.
INDEX OF FIRST LINES
- Across the school-ground it would start.
- WILLIAM ROSE BENÉT
99A flitting benediction of words.
-
60A lonely lake, a lonely shore.
- LEW SARETT
15A man may think wild things under the moon.
- RAYMOND HOLDEN
17Ah, how I pity the young dead who gave.
- EDITH WHARTON
98Although I saw before me there the face.
- EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON
88All night the crickets chirp.
- LEONORA SPEYER
23Be quiet, worker in my breast.
- SCUDDER MIDDLETON
95Bed is the boon for me.
- AGNES LEE
79Behind the high white wall.
- IDA O'NEIL
54Bees, go tell the things he treasured.
- DANIEL HENDERSON
95Boo-shoo! Boo-shoo!
- LEW SARRET
105Christ said, "Mary," as he walked within the garden.
- MARY CAROLYN DAVIES
50Dearest, we are like two flowers.
- AMY LOWELL
30Even as a hawk's in the large heaven's hollow.
- JOHN HALL WHEELOCK
36Even when all my body sleeps.
- LOUIS GINSBERG
22Every year Emily Dickinson sent one friend.
- CARL SANDBURG
75Forgive me not! Hate me and I shall know.
- LILLA CABOT PERRY
90Four faces in the dark.
- HAROLD TROWBRIDGE PULSIFER
59God has such a splendid way.
- LOUISE AYRES GARNETT
10Gray are the gardens of our Celtic lands.
- WALTER ADOLPHE ROBERTS
56Green golden door, swing in, swing in.
- JEANNETTE MARKS
25He did not know that he was dead.
- HARRY KEMP
96Her faith abandoned and her place despised.
- EDGAR LEE MASTERS
63Her footsteps fall in silent sands.
- MAURICE BROWNE
31Her eyes are sunlit hazel.
- SARAH N. CLEGHORN
46Her eyes hold black whips.
- ALFRED KREYMBORG
47Her scant skirt spreads above her knees.
- VINE MCCASLAND
84How far is it to Babylon?
- MARGARET ADELAIDE WILSON
55I am a dancer. When I pray.
- AMANDA BENJAMIN HALL
9I am afraid to go into the woods.
- LEONORA SPEYER
15I am weighed down beneath a clustering load.
- CHARLES WHARTON STORK
113I cannot put you away.
- HERBERT S. GORMAN
33I come singing the keen sweet smell of grass.
- JACOB AUSLANDER
14I do not kneel at night, to say a prayer.
- KATHARINE MCCLUSKEY
9I have made grief a gorgeous, queenly thing.
- WINIFRED WELLES
93I have on mine no likeness.
- WINIFRED WELLES
89I have seen this city in the day and the sun.
- CARL SANDBURG
62I must have passed the crest a while ago.
- SARA TEASDALE
90I never met the Spring alone before.
- CAROLINE GILTINAN
3I thought of you and how you love this beauty.
- SARA TEASDALE
42I saw by looking in his eyes.
- EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON
71I slumbered with your poems on my breast.
- ROBERT FROST
98I watch the farmers in their fields.
- WILLIAM ALEXANDER PERCY
24/REF>I walked mY fastest down the twilight street.
- JOHN ERSKINE
58I, who fade with the lilacs.
- WILLIAM GRIFFITH
91I, who laughed my youth away.
- WILLIAM GRIFFITH
29If I could sing the song of dawn.
- LEONORA SPEYER
14If there is any life when death is over.
- SARA TEASDALE
43If what we fought for seems not worth the fighting.
- HAMILTON FISH ARMSTRONG
117It swoops gray-winged across the obliterated hills.
- LEONORA SPEYER
22It's just a heap of ruin.
- LOUISA BROOKE
60It's little I care what path I take.
- EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY
35In the dark night I heard a stirring.
- LEONORA SPEYER
68I've brung you my three babes, that lost their Maw a year ago.
- ANN COBB
81Let the ghost of the brave be carried away.
- NELSON ANTRIM CRAWFORD
107Let it be forgotten, as a flower is forgotten.
- SARA TEASDALE
43Light your cigarette, then, in this shadow.
- CONRAD AIKEN
53Lilith, Lilith wept for the moon.
- HERBERT S. GORMAN
45Like wine grown stale, the street-lamp's pallor seeks.
- MAXWELL BODENHEIM
35"Lot 65: John Keats to Fanny Brawne."
- LOUIS UNTERMEYER
86Love, we have dipped Life's humble bread.
- J. CORSON MILLER
26Make of my voice a blue-edged sword, Oh, Lord!
- MARYA ALEXANDROVNA ZATURENSKY
7"Maximilian Marvelous," we called him for a joke.
- J. CORSON MILLER
74Men know that the birch-tree always.
- WINIFRED WELLES
11Men who have loved the ships they took to sea.
- DAVID MORTON
67Monsters in trousers baggy and grey.
- VINE MCCASLAND
84My arms were always quiet.
- WINIFRED WELLES
33Not all flowers have souls.
- FLORENCE TABOR HOLT
19Nothing to say to all those marriages.
- ROBERT FROST
103Now that the gods are gone.
- MAXWELL ANDERSON
13Oh day of fire and sun.
- SARA TEASDALE
42O Earth you are too dear to-night.
- SARA TEASDALE
42O Love, now the herded billows over the holy plain.
- JOHN HALL WHEELOCK
114O, my friend.
- EDGAR LEE MASTERS
112Observant of the way she told.
- EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON
34Of finest porcelain and of choicest dye.
- ANTOINETTE DE COURSEY PATTERSON
21Off the long headland, threshed about by round-backed breakers.
- JOHN GOULD FLETCHER
1Oh line of trees all dark and green.
- ROSS PARKEWOOD
16Oh, the lives of men, lives of men.
- EDWIN FORD PIPER
69On the cord dead hangs our sister.
- ELIZABETH J. COATSWORTH
102One deep red rose! dropped into his grave.
- LILLA CABOT PERRY
91One night in May in a clear sky.
- IRA TITUS
16Ou! Ou! Ou!
- MYRTLE EBERSTEIN
52People that build their houses inland.
- EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY
67Red wreaths.
- CAROLYN HILLMAN
32Saddle me up the Zebra Dun.
- EDWIN FORD PIPER
83Searching my heart for its true sorrow.
- EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY
94She passes by though long ago.
- HAZEL HALL
78She said, "Lift high the cup!"
- LILLA CABOT PERRY
90[missing data?]
- She wore purple, and when Stiff in midsummer green, the stolid hillside.
- AMY LOWELL
24Strange that she can keep with ease.
- HAZEL HALL
77Stretching. her toes until they kiss.
- VINE MCCASLAND
85Suddenly flickered a flame.
- LEONORA SPEYER
12Tethered to the canvas top.
- VINE MCCASLAND
85The dust is thick along the road.
- ELIZABETH J. COATSWORTH
20The lawyers, Bob, know too much.
- CARL SANDBURG
86The pomp of capitals long left to rust.
- WALTER ADOLPHE ROBERTS
44The Roman wall was not more grave than this.
- .DAVID MORTON
21The roses and vines and the tall, straight, delicate poplars.
- JAMES LANE ALLEN
118The sound of rustling silk is stilled.
- DJUNA BARNES.
101The sun shines bright in many places.
- ARMEL O'CONNOR
8The transports move stealthily to sea.
- KATHRYN WHITE RYAN
65The ways of the world are a-coming —up Cyarr!
- ANN COBB
80The white-walled Rome of an unwritten epic.
- ALOYSIUS COLL
61The wood is talking in its sleep.
- LEONORA SPEYER
23There will be rose and rhododendron.
- EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY
111They said someone was waiting.
- WILLIAM GRIFFITH
31They stormed the forts of Nature.
- PHŒBE HOFFMAN
87They that dwell in shadow.
- HOWARD MUMFORD JONES
51This festal day, two thousand times returning.
- GEORGE MEASON WHICHER
76Three school-girls pass this way each day.
- HAZEL HALL
58To Bombay and Capetown, and ports of a hundred lands.
- GORDON MALHERBE HILLMAN
66Trees need not walk the earth.
- DAVID ROSENTHAL
17Two of Thy children one summer day worked in their garden, Lord.
- ROSE PARKEWOOD
20What are the islands to me.
- MRS. RICHARD ALDINGTON
38What do I care, in the dreams and the languor of spring.
- SARA TEASDALE
26What is dust?
- DOROTHY ANDERSON
92We are the deathless dreamers of the world.
- WALTER ADOLPHE ROBERTS
57We are walking with the month.
- SCUDDER MIDDLETON
92When the wounded seamen heard the ocean dauthters.
- RIDGELY TORRENCE
5When my young Soul went first to ride.
- FLORENCE JENNY
44When you and I are laid away.
- SCUDDER MIDDLETON
97Yes, I've sev'ral kivers you can see.
- ANN COBB
81You loved the hay in the meadow.
- WILLIAM ROSE BENÉT
100You sent me a sprig of mignonette.
- AMY LOWELL
37You talk of this and that, of that and this.
- HARRY KEMP
64Your hot voice sizzles from some cool trees near by.
- LEONORA SPEYER
22