, ring Fever ~I EVELYN R~ To jtlww mtmbtrJ' oj ille Tf/omtn',r Pre"" Club, Uni"er.r~·IJJ of Toronto. Contents

Banked Snow , A Christma. Thought • Sky Piaure 7 P~m • Spring • To Mary I. Plea T haw 12" Cadenza I) The Gull Simon the Mask Maker " e Lot J ou r s.. Couche " Companion Wi.., "17 to" Swan Song " Night 2." Windy H ill Bird of Dawning " All ure ... " My Soul and I . " Fouils " Surpri.., • "27 H ie Jacet Ars Dt.ltruetion "2.

, Banked Snow

I What is chat crimson pyre that blinds the sky, And shoots its auras throug h the swaying trees, That stand like sh rouded maidens in the breeze, While dawn and noon go riding, riding high?

W hat is that luminous inverted bowl, That phosphorescent mirror of the night That robs the tinsel from the moon's wan light; A marble body with a flaming soul?

Look how the moody wind, in joyous prank, Throws it, like gauzen lace, ahout the sky, T hen twirls it, in a dervish dance, to lie Exhausted, on a bracken-strewn bank.

, Sky Picture

• Sometimes I think that I would like A Christmas Thought To be the painte r of the sky, And with my palette at m y side I'd tint the clouds as they pass by; Those little candles in the window stand I'd dip my brush in amber dew, Like haunted wraiths, against the chilly pane; And daub it recklessly about, A spectral host, a ghostly little band With here and there a crimson flush, That cowers down, then bursts aglow again, And in between, the sky, no doubt A .quiver, with the icy draft befanned. Would glisten through, a brilliant blue; That holly wreath seems such a festal spray, And I would like a touch of grey, Its waxen leaves all caught with berries red; For fear some person lost in joy A rival for the ropes of smilax, gay, At all the colours of the day That statt to climb the stairs, but pause, instead, Should think the world was just a maze To usher in a gladsome Christmas Day. Of wild kaleidoscopic light; And when my picture was complete I'd drop the curtain of the night.

• 7 Spring

P oem 0, hyacinth, I pray thee, blind for me The vision of my outward eye, a space, I saw the wind that blew the birds That I may view thee with a keener sight, Across the silver sky- Thy beauty on my inner orb to tface. It echoed through the lady elms, There, with a freer scope and more repose And as it whistled by To let my fancy lead me where it will, The poplars bowed majestically, I see thee in thy truest beauty, placed For all rhe watching world to see. Among the swaying grasses on the hill.

I heard the sun that tipped the grass Oh periwinkle bells with muted tongues, And hid behind the hill- Let merry music tinkle from thy lips, I heard it hush the pulsing air And let thy liquid perfume stand in drops A nd bid the birds be still; Upon the chalice whe re the wild bee sips. And then I saw its arms unfold, Unloose the taut and binding chord that chains To splash the purple world with gold. The narrow portal of my listening ear, That I may join the pilgrims who p roclaim That surely, yes, 'tis true, the spring is here!

8 9 Plea

There was a maiden fair as dawn; Ye waves and waters, hark to me! Oh tell me, whither has she gone

To Mary Who used to walk beside the SC3?

You came to me when winter rode the heavens, Unloose the rumble of thy voice, And ran its fingers through the tousled trees; Leap, maddened, to the sullen sky, When red and ochre leaves were strewn about us Rage mightily, but only say Like puppets, in the willy-nilly breeze. Was it to you she went to die ? You reached your hand to me across the chasm, And drew me from the blackness of despair Beat on the patient, solid cliffs, To walk beside you in the year's dim twilight, Suck up the willing, sandy shore, To feel your friendly presence with me, there. But tell me, tell me, is she gone? • Am I to see her nevermore?

Race, foaming, for a million years, Monotonous, as in the past; Perhaps you guard your secret now, But I will have it at the last.

10 11 Thaw Cadenza

Running up and down the keys Drip, drip- I n a mad frenzy, Be not alarmed; Like demented g nomes 'Tis only the icicles melting away On their first holiday Into the eavetroughs, Set free! And running down T umbling boisterously Into the puddles From one notc to t he n ext, At the base of the tenement steps, • And ending with a crash Where bright.eyed urchins In a loud sforzando! Sail shingle and burlap boats • Bong! In a sea of filthy melted ice.

" " The Gull Simon the Mask-Maker

Simon the mask-maker sits in the sun A swish-a swoop-a dive-the Gull Shaping and molding, from day to day, Goes racing across the an g ry sky, Faces that rise from the lifeless day, Rushing from out the thund'ring clouds, Ready to buy if you pass that way. Searching [he shore as it passes by­

Tearing the eyes from a dying fish, Simon the mask-maker sits in the sun Shrieking disdainfully in its glee, And fingers the clay with loving hands Ripping a gash in a dead bird's skull, As none but an anist understands Diving recklessly into the sea. The plastic lump, when its mass expands.

A pause-a rest-a cry of pain! Simon the mask.maker sits in the sun The gull is stretched o n the cold grey rocks, Shaping his clay to the mood he feels, And overhead in the dark sky Working it round till the form appeals; The carrion birds fIy low in flocks, • Branding the shell with one of his seals . Ready [Q pounce with one accord, And tear the flesh from the yielding frame­ Simon the mask-maker sits in the sun, For youth must live on the spoils of age, Running his hand through his tousled hair, And li fe goes rushing on the same. Searching for buyers of plaster-ware: If you go by you will see him the re.

14 " Companion-Wise

Le Jour Se Couche I have among m y list of friends An unassuming fellow, Day, overburdened through her waking hours, A very charming soul to meet, Ascends to Night, the M atriarch of sleep, Whose laugh is rich and mellow; Where, couched within those jet and sapphire bowers Who, all the same, is very deep, AU star be.pricked, the drowsy shadows creep, Intelligent and witty, T o fold their weary guest in slumber deep. Who loves his home and loves his wife, And more-which is the pity- She flings her lattice wide, and there on high H e loves his li ttle glass of wi ne, Hangs O U t the moon, a lantern, dusky.white, (Which, in itself, is heaven;) That bobs about upon the changing sky But silly fellow, how he acts Its watch [0 keep; When he has had eleven! Enwrapped in shadows bright, H e loves his dogs, he loves his cat, Watch over her, asleep, oh mother N ight! H e loves his meerschaum, yellow; And what is more, he loves his friends; Fine, noble, hea rty fe llow!

" "

------Love Swan Song Love rode across the plain at dusk, Deep pool, o n thy green, swelling bosom H is purple mantle lifted high The moonbeams lie waiting-for what? A long the wind. that carried him, And all through the air is a stillness, A silhouette, against the sky. The peace.seeking song of a thought. Love rode into the dusky hills, One star lies reflecting its image, Where, standing by a chalet door One ripple flows out to its ebb, And becko ning, with hand and eye, And one lonely swan floats in silence, Stood Beauty, on the leaf-strewn floor. Floats as though caught in a web. One note rises clear on the night air, Love rode across the plain at dawn, The song of a soul that has bled­ His mantle trailing from behind; And out on the nig ht a cry answers­ His eyes fast closed, his arms down flung, The song of a swan that is dead. And dead leaves through his whipped locks twined.

" " Windy Hill Night Windy Hill is full o' spooks, Night, like a mighty candelabra, stands Windy Hill is eerie. Footed on earth, and rising into space, Winds that blow on Windy H ill Beneath Auro ra's green-white arc of flame Are full 0 ' gloom, and d reary. That spans the fi rmament, a burning b race Tight-gri pped, to hold the heavens in their place. Dead, the larch that spreads its arms, Grey, the douds that cap it; Blue-black the mist that overhangs the hills Rusty are the blades of grass Like velvet backing for this flaming stick That spread about to lap it. That holds a million torch lig hts on its rips, E ach one a glowing ember on its wick, Birds that fl y on W indy Hill

The silver shadows of the sky to prick. Are full 0' shrill complaining. Windy Hill is warped with storms, The snuffer goes his rounds from time to time, And wet with constant raining. T o clip the overhang ing threads of char,

But sometimes cuts [ 00 deep, and through the black Windy Hill is full o' spooks, A sudden flash splits space, and from afar Windy Hill is eerie. Awakes the echo of a faUing star. Winds that blow on Windy Hill Are full o' gloom, and dreary.

zo 21 Bird of Dawning

Did you see it? Where are you, little white bird of the dawning? A liule bird flew up to my window Why did you suddenly vanish away, And pecked on the pane- D rawing the curtains of night time aside, And then away it went again. Flinging the casements of morn open wide, Leaving our valleys exposed to the day? What did you want, little fluff? A crumb or a crust, Where are you, little white bird of the d3wning? Or just a peek Why did you take all the shadows of night, At the fine ladies who sat Fold them away with the moon's silent glow, At my gay tea table? Bid sun to glisten and dawn winds to blow? Where are you winging your lone, restless flight?

Z2 23 My Soul and I

We love to sit and dream, My soul and I ; Alure And gaze with rapture at The changing sky; Chameleon wonders pass They say that all the little birds Before our eyes, In Arcady have shell pink plumes, And puffy douds take on A varied guise, And bills of palest turquoise blue, And with the changing scenes That mingle with the brilliant blooms. My spirit sings, The scent of growing cinnamon, For it is partial to Such wondrous things. That drifts like incense on the breeze, Hangs heavily upon the air While I, poor stolid one, Among the m oss-encrusted trees. Dote not on these, But on the humming buzz The crimson jimponwees burst forth, Of golden bees, Their sticky petals open wide The music of the winds Through scented pine, T o tempt the multicoloured birds The birds that sing of g rapes That come to sup, but once inside As red as wine, T he massive flower folds its leaves, The murmur of the brook, The pebbles' song, And makes a captive of its prey; The chanting of rhe winds Alas! poor beauty, to be tricked T hat whirr along. In such a sad but lovely way. We love to sit and sing My soul and I, And gaze, and gaze, and gaze Up at the sky.

" Fossils Surprise

A snail curled up to die Tramping through the spongy upland, Beside a stone, Printing deep the muddy sod. Down in the plastic mud, Skirting bushy.bordered broad, All, all alone; Come I on a rise to stand.

A c3terpillar came There, beneath a ragged hedge, The next spring, too, Last year's mouldy leaves lie heaped, And wound itself around Sodden, where the rain has seeped A stick or two; From the roadway's d ri pping edge. Not a sign of spring I see The years passed slowly by,­ In the murky landscape round, A weary ant Not a blossom on the g round, Decided life was dull, Not a bud upo n the tree. And ple3sures scant; Unknowingly, it joined Not a bird I hea rd , a-sing The other two, In the overhanging sky And to the musty rock Where the pouchy douds drift by; It later grew. What delays the dawn of spring? Dismal d rizzle, that is rain, A scientist, one day, Drips from off my stooping form, In search of work, Steams above the pastures warm, Decided wet spots were Rivules through the shabby lane. Where fossils lurk; So digging in the mud • • • • • That day, alone, Hold a moment! I complain? He fou nd the sluggards all Why, the sun is upside down Had turned to stone. Bursting through the grasses brown, Spring's first primrose in the rain!

Z6 " Destruction

Far down the sunny reaches of the plain A peasant works and sin gs, his mind engulfed With kindly feelings for his fellow men; A patriotic fervor seldom found In any other class, and over all A philosophic oudook on his state; A prosperous and worthy citizen, Whose grove of olives is his foremost pride­ (When onc considers first his wife and sons; ) And while he ponders thus, ten thousand men F rom all the country round, think on themselves, Hie Jacet Ars And praise, like him, the blessing of their state.

Fate slowly spins a thread of slender gauze, Last nig ht you dipped your fingers in the dust of fallen But finds the product, when complete, too thin stars, To wear well in her finished tapestry. And wrore across the blackness of the sky, In flowi ng bars, Whe re once the sunny vistas opened out Upon the great abundance of [he plain, The spherical cadenzas of a song; A n angry-looking cloud consumes the lig ht, " Hie jacet ars." And settles on the awful, haunted fields. The happy peasants lie with gaping wounds, Their ebbing li fe-blood grasped so hungrily By what was once a rich and fertile e:uth, But now a patch of sere and broken waste. The gaunt, gnarled trunks of all those empty trees, Which yielded such a wealthy store of fruit, Lift high their naked arms in anguished pleas T o feel the joy of moisture at their feet- And still no respite comes; great chasms split The earth, from place to place, the goodly wealth Of human sap was even much t OO scarce To no urish it, and Desolation stalks From off the scene, content to see the g loom And tragedy for which she gave her all.

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