ht 1 1 8 Copyrig , 9
NARD AND COMPANY BY SMALL, MAY
All r ight: reserved
n Februar Seco n d Prin ti g , y, t
U . S v S S CAMB RID GE, T HE U NIVERS IT Y PRE , TO MY FRIEND
mum, Warran t
P u ' Sprm mu. o r AND Dm xrrs r
4 0 1 0 9 8
F ORE W ORD
r r m Ameri a T HE s election s in this book are gathe ed f o c n r r m 0 to 1 1 magazin es , dur in g the pe iodf o 1 9 5 9 7, which ’ embrace the editor s s tudies an d s umma ries of con temporary poetry that have appeared in the BOST ON EVEN ING T RAN h o t o thus in art a n tedates the res en t S CRIPT . T e c llec i n p p
etr le re r en tin the var ious ualities and vogue in po y , whi p es g q r r s h ma az es h oet c revival in its o es . T e in s chools of t e p i p g g ,
e u ers tood have bee the s o r e it is clearly wis h d to be n d , n u c e o the oe s fr om which the material is taken . S om f p m have ’ th r ooks but a ood man remain bur ied gon e in to the au o s b , g y
z a -d e in the files of the var ious maga in es n ill es erv d fate.
t a r o r iate lev n as the editor has u o It may n o s eem in pp p , yi g p n ’ the late Fr an cis P algr ave s fortun ately des criptive title for
r his an thologies of En glis h s on gs an d ly ics , to call this col “ ” r a r lection , a golden treas u y of m gazin e ve s e. If the editor were to ma ke a n apology for the omiss ion
a to b r of n y poem that happen s e a favo ite with the reader,
he would have to make man s uch t a r ader y o m n y e s . He ad that tas can on ly ple , tes an d opin ion s a re s o va r ious an d
o o te wer the reader r r r pp s i , e o c itic tur n ed edito , he would
n eeds be a olo etic i t wer th to ed tor p g , f i e e cus m of i s to be s o,
hich t t t r w i is o . ha a r n W n edito in cludes , g an tin g the reader
the ull x r i r f e e c s e of his own opin ion , he ce tain ly will n ot break th fai with .
W . S . B . CAMBRIDGE MAS S ACH S ETT S , U ,
March 20 , 19 1 8 .
AC KN OW LED G MENT S
T o th e followin g publishers thank s are due for m iss ion to in clude poems th at hav e been iss ued in boo ks hav in g their copy rig t :
T m: MAcm LAN : T h e ield of Glo r rom a ta in Crai A COMPANY F y f p z. ” “ ” “ ” C “ ” Book Of Poems Fla mmon de T h e Gi t o f God an d Cass an dn , , f , , “ “ ro m T h e Man a ain s t th e Sk b Edwin Arlin ton Robins o n T he f g y , y g ; ” “ ” hin ese Ni htin ale rom T h e hi n ese Ni ghtin ale an d Oth er Po ems g g , f g ; “C ” “ C ” “ Yan k ee D oo le ro m T h e o n o an d Oth er Poems an d Gen eral d f g , C ” “ W illiam Booth En ters in to Hea v en from Gen eral W illiam Booth an d ” ” ” Other Poems b Vach el Lin dsaw Sch ool an d i ht rom T he , y F g ” “ f “ Pres en t Hour A ook of Po ems b Perc Mack a e arter T he , B , y y ; B ” “ ” ” “ rok en ield T he Loo k ro m Lo v e So n s b ta T easdale T he B F , , f g ; “ ” “ Flig ht an d o mrades fro m T he Flig ht an d Ot er Poems b Geo rge C “ ” “ ” Edward W oo berr Doo rs rom allads an d Poems b ermann d y ; . f B y “ ” “ ” Hagedorn ; Autochthon from T h e Great Valle an d Silen ce from “ ” ‘ ” “ ” So n s an d Satires by Edgar Lee Mas ters ; an d 1777 an d Pattern s g‘ ” “ ” rom Men W o men an d Gh os ts H mn to Demeter an d W e W ho W ere f , , y “ V. Lo v ers Of Life from T h e Story Of Eleus is by Louis Ledo ux. “ ” “ HENRY HO T AND : T h e Hill-W i e T he D eath o f th e Hired Man L COMPANY f , “ ” “ ” “ ” ro m No rth Of os to n T he Ro ad n ot T ak en irch es an d T he f B , , B ” “ ” “ ” Bo n fire fro m Mo un tain In terv al by Ro ber t Fro st; Emilia fro m Po r traits an d Pro tests by Sara N . Cleg ho rn .
HAm n AND Baorm s : Ga heart A Stor of De eat ro m Poems b y . y f . f y
Dana Burnet .
’ ” “ ” T n ENT URY COI PANY: T h e N ht ourt , T h e Sin Eater an d St . C ” “ C ” ohn of Ne omuc ro m T h e i ht Co urt an d Oth er Verse b Ruth J p f z . y “ ” “ ” Co mfort Mi tchell; La n dsca es an d Summo s from hallen g e by ” C Lo uis n terme er W e Dea an d A Han d ul Of D ust ro m So n s for U y ; f . f g the New Ag e by James Oppen h eim. “ ” “ ” “ r o r es oupANv : T h - - M FREDERICK A. S C o a P oe e ird T rain ates T o r b B , ” “ ” “ NO On e in Pa ticular A T h rush in the Moo n li ht ro m Grenston e , g , f ” r Poems by W i tter By nn er .
’ ” “ ” “ H RLES Scm m s SO S : T o a Hermit T h rush Path - lower Old C A N , F . ” “ Fairin gdown from Path - Flower an d Oth er Po ems by Oliv e T ilfo rd D ar “ ” “ ” r m M t r in M ro m On e W o man t An o th er b o rin n D ; F o 9. o o ay f o y e “ ” C oosev elt Robinso n ; an d I Hav e a Ren dez v ous with Death from th e Poems of Alan Seeg er .
v Hon orrrON Mrrr u N COMPANY: T h e Mon k in the Kitchen an d Grie e n ot . ” “ ” “ Ladies fro m Rose o f th e W in d by An n a Hemps tead B ran ch ; radle ” “ ” “ ” “ C ” Son Harv est Moo n : 19 14 an d A D o g ro m Harv es t Moo n b g , f “ ” y me hin e Pres ton Peabody ; A Memo rial T ablet fro m T h e Ride Ho use “ ” “ {y g‘orence W ilkinso n Ev an s ; Lin coln ro m So me Imag is ts Po ets f . ” “ ” ” 1917 by John Go uld Fletch er ; Ev en so ng from T urn s an d Man es by IX ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
” “ Conrad Aik en T he Adv en turer ro m A Lon el lute b Odell She ; , f y F y p “ ” “ ” ard; T h e Ki ng of Dreams fro m Selected Poems by lin to n Sco llard ° “ ” “ C W ith Cassock Black aret and ook ro m T he Little Gra Son s of , B B f g ” “ ” b e n ue St . J se hs y Grac Fallow No rton ; an d T h e Unoo q Air an d o p ” ” n Pi m I dian pe fro Collected Poems by Flo ren ce Earle Coates . “ ” O l - - GEORGE H . D RAN MPAN : T rees an d T he Twe v e Forty Fiv e from “ CO Y ” “ ” T rees an d Other Poems by oy ec Kilmer ° In the Ro man orum “ ” “ ” “ ” fro m In Dee Places an d T e Po ies rom Life an d Liv ing by . p pp Amelia Josephtn e Burr . “ T HE MANAS PRESS : Cin q uains from Verses by Adelaide Crapsey .
' ” ” D . APPLI ION AND : Slee ro m T he W in in the orn b Edith COMPANY p , f d C , y ‘Vy atZ ” T HE FOUR SEAS COMPANY : Miracles fro m T h e ig of Forslin by Co n rad “ ” “ ” ’ n M ro m A a bin et of ade { D av i N Aik en ; a d oods f C J y d O eil. “ ” T m; LYRIc PUBLISHI NG MPAN : Ash W edn es ay from T h e Shadowed ” CO Y d Ho ur by John Erskin e. ” T HE LIT T E B OOK PUB ISHER : T h e lerk ro m Streets an d aces b L L C , f F , y Scudder Middleton . “ ” “ T HE RANK IN PRES S : He W h oma D reamHath Posses sed T h e W en t o rth F L , y F ” “ ” “ to Battle but th e Alwa s ell rom A lo sso m o u h an d T ha nk s , y y F f B y B g ” “ ” giv ing for Our T ask fro m T he Feet of th e Goat by Shaemas O Sheel. ” ” “ SMA MA RD AND MP : So n an d Ma ic ro m W hite Foun tain s LL. YNA CO ANY g g f ” ’ ” w n n A Moun tain Gatewa Ode an d Ly rics by Ed ard J . O B rie ; a d y “ ” fro m April Airs by Bliss Carman . “ ” T HE YALE UNIVERSIT Y PRES S : T h e Horse T hief fro m T h e Burglar o f the ” Z odiac by W illiam Rose B en et .
’ “ PU'rNAMs SONS : T h e n k n own roth ers an d Letters ro m Egy t G. P . B f p “ U ” w of Aetna b Louis V. Ledoux. from T h e Shado . y ” T wi ER : Gran dmith er T hin k n ot I org et . rom A ril RICHARD G . BADG , F f p ” l h ts b W illa Sibert ather . ig , y C ” KNOPP : T h e n ter reter rom As halt an d Oth er Poems by ALFRED A. I p f p Orrick John s . ” “ Oth er Poems b Tm MIDLAND PRESS : Mean while from Barbed W ire an d y Edwin Ford Piper . “ N FRENCH AND O : Moth erh ood rom T h e B order o f th e SHERMA , C MPANY f ” ” n b A n es Lee . k e an d A Statue in a Garden ro m T h e S h au g , y g La , f “ ” Ov er Ni h t a Rose rom T h e Div in e mag e : A T EE CORNHILL COMPANY : g , f I ” iltman . Book of Lyrics by Carolin e G ” “ P ms of a Valetu inarium NICHOLAS BROW N : Samson Allen fro m Nin e oe d by Don ald Ev an s . ’ i n r m L rics from T HOMAS IRD MOSHER : On a copv o f K ea ts En ym o f o y B “ d u ” Tw So n s In S un ro m T h e a Library bv Clin to n Scollard; an d o g p g f ” b T homas S . o n es r . Vo ice in the Silen ce y J , J ” m deal Passion Son n ets T HE W OODB ERRY SOCIET Y: Immortal Love fro I , by Geo rge Edward W oodberry . ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
” ” T HE ROADSIDE PRES S : o min Home rom W estern W aters b Elizabet C g , f , y h
Sewell Hill.
” ” UB ISHED B Y m AUTHOR: Nov em er from Son n e s : A First Series b P L b , t . y Mahlon Leon ard Fisher .
T O th e editors an d proprietors o f th e magazin es my th an k s are due fo r p ermis n m Is i v en th e name of the ma azme r m sio ns to reprin t . U der each poe g g f o which It 13 taken .
C ON T EN T S
1 . BART ER
S ara Teas dale
- FL z . PATH OWER Olive Tilford Darga n HYMN T o DEMET ER
Louis V. Ledo ux
T o IMAGINAT ION
Dor othea Lawren ce Man n T wo SON GS IN SPRING
6 . T REES joyce Kilmer LANDS CAP ES Lo uis Un ter meyer
T o A HERMIT T HR S H 8 . U Olive Tilford Darga n T o A Pumas - BIRD W itter By n n er
BIRCIIES
Robert Fros t
INDIAN- PIPE
Floren ce Earle Coates
FROM A MOT OR IN MAY
Corin n e Roosevelt Robin s o n A MOUNT AIN GAT EWAY Blis s Car ma n T II E FLIGHT George Edward W oodberry CONTENTS
MAGIc
’ r Edwa d 1 . O B rien
john Hall W heeloch T HE ROAD NOT T AKEN Robert Frost T II E ADV ENT URER Odell Shepard GOOD COMPANY Karle W ils on B aker T o No ONE IN PART ICULAR W itter By n n er
T HE SEA-LANDS Orrick johns T HE N EW PLAT ONIST Cuthbert W right
EMILl A
T HE INT ERPRET ER Orrick J ohn s T IIE LOOK S ara Teas dale IMMORT AL LOV E George Edward W oodber ry PET ER QUINC E AT T II E CLAVIER W allace S tevens
T IIE UNKNOWN B ELOV ED john Hall W heelock PATT ERNS Amy Lowell EVENSONG Con rad Aileen W AIT ING Charles Han s on Tawn e
xiv CON TENTS
T HE BROKEN FIELD S ara Teasdale “ ND T H OT I F R ET GRA MIT HBR, INK N O G W i114 S ibert Gather HUNGARIAN LOV E-LAMENT Ethel S yford
OLD FAIRINGDOW N Olive Tilford Dargan MOT IIERIIOOD Agn es Lee T HE HILL W IP E Robert Frost T IIE W IP E An n a Spen cer Twitchell NEEDLE T RAV EL Margaret Fren ch P atton CRADLE SONG josephin e Pres ton Peabody
‘ BAca NT E T o HER BAS E Eun ice Tietjen s T II E SON Ridgely Torrence
W IT II CAS S OC B C B R AND K LA K, A ET Gr ace Fallon Norton
MOODS
’ David O Neil CINQUAINS Adelaide Cropsey
’ T IIE REGENT S EX AMINAT ION jess ie W allace Hughan T RAIN-MAT ES
W itter Byn n er T HANKSGIVING FOR OUR T AS K Shaemas O S heel SCHOOL. Percy MacKaye YAN K EE DOODLE Vachel Linds ay
CAS S ANDRA Edwin Arlin gton Robin s on
T HE BON PIRE
Robert Fros t
R ST-MO N : 1 HA V E O 19 4 . josephin e P res to n Peabody T II E CHIN ES E NIGHT INGALE Vachel Lin ds ay
llE wn o mA DREAM IIAT II POS S ES S ED Shae mas O S heel T HE KING OF DREAMS Clinton S collard
FLAMMONDE Edwin Arlin gton Robins on SANDY ST AR W illia m S ta n ley B ra ithwa ite SAINT JOHN o r N EPOMUC Ruth Comfort Mitchell
ALLEN 60 . SAMSON
Don ald Eva ns
GAYII EART
Da n a B urn et T HE UNCONQU ERED AIR Floren ce Earle Coates A LIKENES S W illa S ibert Cather
’ “ ON A COPY o r KEAT S ENDYMION Clin ton S collard
SILENC E Edgar Lee Masters
CONTENTS
MEANWHILE Edwin Ford Piper
8 . 1 E E 4 GR EV NOT , LADI S An n a Hempstead B ran ch
85 . COOL T OMES Carl S an dburg
86. MEMORIES OP W HITMAN AND LINCOLN james Oppen heim 8 A OCHT HON 7. UT Edgar Lee Mas ters
88 L L . INCO N john Gould Fletcher
8 ENE L W ILL M B T H O 9 . G RA IA OO ENT ERS INT HEAVEN Vachel Lin dsay
HE PO I S 90 . T PP E Amelia josephin e B urr LO 9 1 . YELLOW C V ER Katharin e Lee B ates
2 . O ER NI HT A ROS E 9 V G , Carolin e Giltin a n
E ENSON 93. V G Ridgely Torren ce
T TLE SLEE 94. BA P Edith W harton
SON 95 . G ’ Edward O Brien j. A ST AT E IN A RD EN 96 . U GA
T HE LES S ER CHILDREN Ridgely Torren ce A T HRUS H IN T HE MOONLIGHT Witter Byn ner NOV EMB ER Mahlon Leon ard Fis her
xv iii CONTENTS
W NT ER SCENE 10 0 . T HE I Bliss Carman
H EL E-FORT Y-F E 10 1 . T E T W V IV joyce Kilmer COMIN HOME Ioz . G
W E W HO ERE LO ERS OP LI E 10 3. W V P ’ Louis I . Ledoux
S MMONS 1 0 4. U Lo uis Un termey r
0 HE DEAD 1 5 . T David Morton
DEAD 10 6 . W E ja mes Oppen heim o A DEAD SOLDIER 10 7 . T Ken dall Harr is on
T HE DEAT H o T H E H RED MAN 10 8 . r I Rbbert Frost
A HANDPUL OF D ST 10 9 . U james Oppen he im I HA E A REND EzVOUS I H E 1 1 0 . V W T D AT H Alan Seeger
T HE CRET 1 1 1 . SE
Frederick Fa ust
SC ILLA I I z . INT W illiam Sta nley B raithwaite EE 1 1 3. SL P Edith Wyatt
1 A MEMO T B L 1 4. RIAL A ET Florence W ilkin s on Evan s
E IT A 1 1 5 . P PH Louise Driscoll
1 1 6 . COMRAD ES George Edward W oodberry CONTENTS
TH EY WENT FORT H T o BAT TLE B UT TH EY ALW AYS Shaemas O S heel
T H E UNKNOWN BROT HERS
Louis V. Ledoux
T HE MONK IN T HE KIT CH EN An n a Hemps tead B r an ch DOORS Herman n Hagedor n
INDEx OP AUT HORS
IND Ex OP POEMS
INDEx OP FIRST LINES
Bafter
IFE has loveliness to sell
All beautiful an d splendid things ,
’ clifl Blue waves whitened on a , s Climbing fire th at sways an d sing , ’ And children s faces looking up
Holding wonder like a cup .
Life has loveliness to sell e Mus ic like a curv of gold ,
Scent of pine trees in the rain ,
Eyes th at love you, arms th at hold , ’ And for your spirit s still d elight,
Holy thoughts th at star t he night .
l Spend a l you h ave for loveliness, Buy it an d never count t he cost; For o n e white singing hour Of peace
a W s Co unt m any a ye r of strife ell lo t, And fo r a breath Of ecs tasy
Give all you have been or could be . A Magazin e of Vers e S ara Teasda le
’ - RED CAP sang in Bishop s wood , ’ ’ A l ark o er Golder s lane, As I t he April pathway trod
Bound west for Willesden . THEGQLDEN’ TREASURY
At foot each tiny blade grew big
And taller stood to hear . And every leaf on every twig
W as like a little car .
n d o a As I too paused , a b th w ys tried
T o catch t he rippling r ain ,
s e So till, a h are k pt at my side
His tussock of disd ain,
Behind me close I heard a ste p,
- r A soft pit pat sur p ise, And looking round my eyes fell deep Into sweet other eyes ;
T e he eyes like wells , wher sun lies too,
So clear an d trus tful brown , Without a bubble warning you ’ T hat here S a place to drown .
” How m any miles ? Her broken shoes
Had told of more th an o n e .
he a e S nswered like a d reaming Mus , “ ” I came from I s lington .
? ” So long a tramp T W O g entle nods, T e ee e h n s m d to lift a wing,
- And words fell soft as Willow buds , “ I came to find the Spring .
A timid voice, y et not afraid
In ways so sweet to roam , As it with honey bees h ad played
And could no more go home .
THE GOLDEN TREASURY
But that which shone of all mo st clear
W as startled , s adder tho ught Th at I should give her back the fear f Of li e she had forgot.
’ An d I blushed fo r the world we d made, ’ Putting God s h and aside, Till for the want of sun an d shade His litt le children died ;
An d blushed th at I who every year an d With Spring went up down , Must greet a soul th at ached fo r her “ ” With penny for a bun !
Struck as a thief in holy place
Whose S in upo n him cries,
I watched the flowers leave her face,
The song go from her eyes .
w Then she, sweet heart , she sa my ro ut, And of her ch arity A hand of grace put softly out
An d took the coin from me .
’ - A red cap sang in Bishop s wood, ’ ’ A lar k o er Golder s lane;
But I , alone, still glooming stood, And April plucked in vain ;
Till living words rang in my ears And sudden music played : Out of s uch s acred thirs t as hers
The world s hall be remade. OF MAGAZINE VERSE
Afar she turned her head an d smiled
As might have smiled the Spring, An d humble as a wondering child
I watched her vanishing . Atlan tic Mon thly Olive Tilford Dargan
Hymn to Demeter
F rom The S tory of Eleus is
e d EAVE the d anc , an raise again the sacred chorus; Wreath e the garlands of t he spring about the h air;
Now once more the meadows bu rst in bloom before us,
n d r r i Crying swallows d art a glitte th ough the a r . Glints the plowsh are in the brown an d fragrant furrow; Pigeons coo in S h ady coverts as they pair ;
a e n d Come the furtive mount in folk from cav a burrow, ’ Lean , an d blinking at the sunlight s sudden glare .
Bright through midmost heaven moves the lesser Lion ; Hide the Hyades in ocean caverns hoar;
r e e Past the shoulde s of t h suns t fl ames Or ion ,
Following the S isters seaward evermore .
Gleams the east at evening, lit by low Arcturus ;
- e Out to subtle sc nted d awns beside the shore, Yet a little an d the Pleiades will lu re us n Weave the d ance a d raise the chorus as of yore .
Far to eastward up the fabled gulf of Issus,
Northward , southward , westward , now the trader goes, a P ssing headlands clustered yellow with n arcissus,
e . Bright with hyacinth, with po ppy, an d with ros 5 THE GOLDEN TREASURY
se an d Shines the a falls the billow as undaunted ,
Past the rising of the stars th at no man knows,
a he - S ils onward through the islands S iren h aunted ,
T t he e ill clashing gates of rock before him clos .
Kindly Mother of the beasts an d birds an d flowers,
e e n d Gracious bring r of the barl y a the grain, E arth awakened feels thy sunlight an d thy showers ; Great Demeter l Let us call thee not in vain ; e Lead us safely from the s edtime to the th reshing, ’ Past t he h arvest an d t he vineyard s purple stain ;
r - r he Let us see thy co n pale h ai t sunlight meshing, fl l When t he sounding ai s of autumn swing again .
The Yale Review Louis V. Ledoux
To Imagination
’ [Suggested by Maxfield Parrish s Air Castles
- BEAUT EOUS boy a dream , wh at visions sought
Of pictu res m agical thy eyes unfold ,
Wh at triumphs of celestial wonders wrought, Wh at m arvels from a breath of beauty rolled ! Skyward an d seaward on t he clouds are scrolled
A mystic imagery of castled thought,
A thousand worlds to lose, o r win an d mold, A radiant ir idescence swiftly caught
- - a . Of ever changing glory, fancy fr ught
k Blue wonder of the sea an d luminous S y ,
A thousand wonders in thy d reamlit face, Eyes th at beheld afar the tu rrets high d Of Ilium, an t he transient mortal grace 6 1 OF MAGAZINE VERSE
’ e d ll e Of D irdre s sa ness , a the conqu ring race ’ Of Athens, eyes th at s aw Eden s beauty In passion ate adoration visions trace Across the tender brooding of t he sigh
That wrecked a city an d m ade Chieftains die .
Forward not ba ckward turns t he mystic shine Of those far- seeing or bs th at track the gleam T he fleecy m arvel of t he cloud is line e On line t he wiz ard tracery of a d r am . l d 0 a , who buildest not of things th at seem, Beyond wh at bounds of Visioning divine
e - ra e eam Cam th at far s mile, from wh at long st y d sunb e e Caught thou t he radianc , from wh at fost r ing vine The po wer to build an d mold the deep design ?
Knowest thou the secret th at thy brush would tell,
Is all t he dream a bubbled splendor white,
e e - e e e Beyond thos castl s cloud bound , does th r dw ll T he etern al silence of the d ark o r light ? Will thy h and hold t he pen which sh all indict T he symbolle d mystery write t he fin al knell Of rainbow fancy is t he distant sight A nothingness encircled by t he spell ’ Of gleaming bubbles wrought of beauty s shell ?
e In vain to question , where t he myst ry ’ n Of Youth s short gold en d ream is lord a d king .
e The eyes th at farth st gaz e in ecstasy, Were never meant to paint the immortal thing
e . They see, nor understand the joy th y bring The misty baubles of the sky an d sea T HE GOLDEN TREASURY
- a . a bo n S il on Dre m still, bright visioned y , a d flin g a The glittering m ntle of thy thoughts that flee, a er e We ving us ev more thy shining pag antry . The P oetry j ourn al Dorothea Lawren ce Man n
Two S ongs in Spring
T T all r e LI LE buds bou g oning with Spring, You hold my winter in forgetfulness;
Without my window lilac branches swing, Within my gate I hear a robin s ing 0 little laughing bloo ms th at lift an d bless !
e So blow the br ezes in a soft caress, ’ Blowing my d reams upon a swallow s wing; e 0 little m rry buds in d appled dress, You fill my heart with very wantonnes s 0 little buds all bourgeoning with Spring!
At hint of Spring I have you back again
- T he blush of apple blossoms on t he bough, A scent of buds far sweeter fo r the rain
At hint of Spring I h ave you back again ,
And all the time is lost since then an d n ow.
’ e Your voic is hidden in the thrush s song, ’ And in the south Wind s slumbering refrain ; 8 MAGAZINE VERSE
d You nee ust come, love is so very stron g , And we found each other waited long At Spring I have you back again !
Th at h a e P T om s S . j on es ,
Trees
T HINK th at I sh all never see
A poem lovely as a tree .
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest ’ Against the sweet earth s sweet flowing breast;
A tree th at loo ks at God all day And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree th at may in Summer wear A nest of robins in her h air;
Upon whose bosom snow h as lain ;
Who intimately lives with rain .
Poems are m ade by fools like me, But only God can m ake a tree ! ' P oetry : A MZzgazin e of Vers e
Landscapes
!F or Clemen t R. W ood)
w n d HE r ain as over, a the brilliant air M ade every little blade of grass appear Vivid an d st ar tling everything w as there e e With sh arp n d outlines, eloquently clear, As s aw a e though one it in a cryst l sph re . THE GOLDEN TREASURY
The rusty sumac with its struggling spires ; T he golde n- ro d with all its million fires ; !A million torches swinging in t he wind)
A single poplar, m arvellou s ly thinned,
H lf e e e a lik a n ak d boy, h alf lik a sword ;
s e r e Cloud , like t h h aughty banne s of t h Lord ; A group of p ansies with their sh rewish faces Little old l adies cackling over l aces ;
e T he qu aint, unhu rried road th at cu rved so w ll;
T he r m e e e p i p tunias with th ir r ich , rank sm ll ;
T he e e- s e ee e he e l ttuc bird , t h cr p rs in t fi ld How bountifully were they all rev ealedl How arrogantly each o n e seemed to th r ive
a n s ! So fr nk a d strong, o r adiantly alive
And over all the morning- minded eart h
There seemed to s pre ad a sh ar p an d kindling mirth, Piercing t he stubborn s tones until I s aw e o r awe T he toad face heaven without sham ,
s n e ee T he an t confront the star , a d ev ry w d Grow p roud as though it bo re a roya l seed ; While all t he things that die an d deco mpose Sent forth their bloom as r ichly as t he rose
e e Oh, what a lib ral pow r th at made them thrive
e e r e . And k ep the v ry di t th at di d , alive
And now I s aw t he slender willow- tree s e s No longer calm o r d roo ping li tl s ly, Letting its languid br anches sway an d fall As tho ugh it d anced in some s ad ritu al;
e n e r But rath er lik a you g , athl tic gi l ,
e n d a e r all o ut o f r F arless a g y , h r h ai cu l,
I O
T HE GOLDEN TREASURY
To a Hermit Thrush
ER WELL among leaves, an d shining twilight T a o a a o h t fold co l rms b ut thine altar place, Wh at joyous r ace Of gods dost serve with such un falterirfg vows ?
Weave me a time- fr inged tale e e Of slumbering, h aunt d tre s, And s tar- sweet fr agrances No day defiled;
er e Of bow ing nights innum rable, ’ And nestling hou rs breath- nigh a dryad s heart T h at sleeping yet was wild ’ With dream- beat th at tho u mad st a p art ’ - flu in n Of thy d awn t g ; ay , a d k eep st it still, Striving so late th es e godles s woods to fill
e r With undefeat d st ain ,
e r t h e o ld r And in o n hou build wo ld again .
Wast thou found singing when Dian a drew Her s ki rts fro m t he fi rst night ? Didst feel the sun- breath when t he valleys grew
e Warm with t h love of light, T ill blades of flower- lit green gave to t he wind T he mys tery th at m ad e sweet
T o re s r e an d e e he earth f ver , t ang und fin d
s o d as s s e e As life, a G , thi thy ong compl t T hat holds with me twin memor ies
e e men Of time r , And ere o ur ways Lay s undered with t h e abys s o f air between ? OF MAGAZINE VERSE
L ist, I will lay
r The wo ld, my s on g,
D e e hea rt a e p in th of d y , Day that is lon g ! As the ages drea m or the stars delay
r Keep than f om me,
- r S igh th oated man ,
F orever to be
’ r r Unde the s on gles s wan de er s ban . I am of time That coun teth n o dawn ; Thy eeon s yet climb
To s kies I ha ve won , S eekin g for aye a n un ris en s un !
Soft as a sh adow slips ree e e Before t he moon , I c p b n ath the trees , Even to t he boughs whose lowest circling tips Whisper with the an emones T hick- strewn as though a cloud h ad m ade Its d rifting way through s pray an d leafy br aid And sunk with un remembering ease
To humbler heaven upon t he mossy heaps . And here a warmer flow e e ee Urges thy m lody, y t k ps T he cool of bowers ; as might a rose blush th rough Its un relinquis hed dew ; e wo e Or bounteous h art th at knows not ,
e s an d Put on t he rob of ighs, fain ’ ’ s Would hold in love s s u rmise a neighbour pain .
e e s rit e l Ah, I h ave wrong d th e, p
So tender now thy song in flight, l 3 THE GOLDEN TREASURY
e So sweet its ling rings are, It seems t he liquid memory Of time when thou didst try
Thy gleaning wing through hum an years,
And met, ay , kn ew the sigh n e Of me who pray, t h tears ’ o That hide t he w m an s star, The brave ascending fire ’ Th at is youth s beacon an d too soon his pyre,
e e e n d e Y a, all our striving, bat l ss a unse ing,
Th at builds each day our Heaven new . ’ More deep in time s un n earin g blue, Fart her an d ever fleeing
The dream th at ever must pursue .
Heart- n eed is s ores t W hen the s on g dies : r Come to the fo es t,
B r other of the s ighs .
- - Hea rt n eed is s on g n eed,
r ! B other , give me thin e
- r - S on g meed is hea t meed, ! B rother , take min e
I go the s till way , Cover me with n ight Thou goes t the will way
In to the light.
Dus t an d the burden
Thou s halt outr un ;
r B ear then my gue don ,
S on g, to the s un ! OF MAGAZINE VERSE
0 little p agan with the heart of Christ,
I go bewildered from thine altar place, These broo ding boughs an d grey- lit forest Nor know if thou den ies t e n e My d stiny a d rac , ’ an M s goalward falterings, To sing the perfect joy th at lay
l e A ong the path we mis s d somewhere, a e i Th t led thee to thy hom in a r,
we - e s r se o r While , soil creep r , b ui u way T oward heights an d s un rise bounds That wings may know nor feet may win l e o ll e r For a l th ir scars, f r a th i wounds; Or h ave I heard within thy s train ’ Not sorrow s self, but sorrowing
Th at thou didst seek t he w ay more free, Nor took with us the trail of pain ’ e Th at ndeth not, e er widening To life that knows wha t Life may be; ’ ’ And e er thou fall st to silence long Would golden parting fling
Go m t r r , an , h ough death un to thy s ta ; I jour n ey n ot s o far ; M ’ y win gs mus t fail e en with my s on g .
’ S cr ibn er s Magazin e Olive Tilford Da rgan THE GOLDEN T REASURY
To a Phaebe- Bird
e es e NDER the av , out of the w t , You nest within my reach ; You never sing fo r me an d y et
You have a golden speech .
n d You sit a quir k a rapid tail, e Wrinkle a ragg d crest, T hen pirouette from tree to rail d An vault from rail t o nest .
e e And when in fr qu nt, d ainty fright n d You grayly slip a fade, And when at h and you t e- alight
Demure an d un afraid,
And when you bring your brood its fill Of iridescent wings w And green legs de y in your bill,
Your silence is wh at sings .
Not of a feather th at enjoys r o r To prate o r p aise preach,
O Phe be , with so little noise, Wh at eloquence you teach ! B ellman W itter Byn n er Birches
HEN I see birches bend to left an d righ t
r t he es s a a Ac oss lin of tr ighter d r ker trees, ’ s s I like to think ome boy been swinging them . ’ n t But swinging does bend them down to stay .
1 6 OF MAGAZINE VERSE
- e a Ice storms do th at . Oft n you must h ve seen them Loaded with ice a sunny winter morning e e After a rain . They click upon th ms lves
e e n d r a - As the breez ris s, a tu n m ny colored
As t he stir cracks an d craz es their en amel . ’ Soon the sun s warmth m akes them shed crystal shells Shattering an d avalanching on t h e sno w- crust Such heaps of broken glass to sweep away ’ You d think t he inner dome of heaven had fallen . T hey are dragged to t he withered bracken by t he load An d they seem not to break ; though o nce they are bowed
So low fo r long th ey never r ight themselves You may see the ir trunks arching in t he woods
e o Years afterwards, trailing th ir leaves n t he groun d Like girls on h ands an d knees th at th row their h air
Before them over their heads to dry in t he sun . But I was going to s ay when tr uth broke in
ll e r-o f- i - With a h r m atte fact about t he ce storm , !No w am I free to be poetical ?) I should prefer to h ave some boy bend them As he went o ut an d in to fetch t he cows
e r Som boy too fa from town to learn b aseball,
Whose only play w as wh at he found himself,
Summer o r winter, an d could play alone . ’ On e by o n e he subdu ed his father s trees By riding them down over an d over again Until he took t he stiffnes s out of them
e o n w And not o n but hung limp , not e as left
He ear e ll e e w s Fo r him to conquer . l n d a th r a T o learn about not launching out too soon And so not car rying t he tree away THE GOLDEN TREASURY
Clear to t he ground . He always kept his poise
T o t he top branches, climbing carefully With t he same pains you use to fill a cup n e Up to t he brim , a d ev n above the br im .
r ee Then he flung outwa d , f t first, with a swish,
w a r ir e Kicking his y down th ough the a to t h ground . e e e So was I once mys lf a swing r of birch s .
re a be And so I d am of going b ck to . ’ ’ e ea s It s wh n I m w ry of con iderations, And life is too much like a pathles s wood Where you r face bu rns an d tickles with t he cobwebs
r e a r s s n d B ok n c o it, a one ey e is weeping ’ From a twig s h aving lashed across it open . ’ I d like to get away from earth awhile an d e An d then come back to it b gin over. May no fate willfully misunderstand me And h alf grant wh at I wis h an d s n atch me away ’ ar s r a e No t to return . E th the ight pl c for love _ ’ ’ I don t know where it s likely to go better . ’ r ree I d like to go by climbing a bi ch t , And climb black branches up a snow- white trunk
e ree e e Towa rd heaven , till t h t could b ar no mor ,
But dipped its top an d set me down again . n c T hat would be good both going a d oming back .
On e could do worse th an be a swinger of birches . The Atla n tic Mon thly Robert F ros t
THE GOLDEN TREASURY
From a Motor in May
HE leaves of Autumn an d the buds of Spring Meet and commingle on our winding way e r And we, who glide into the h a t of May ,
Sense in o ur souls a sudd en quivering . Wh at though t h e fl ash of blue or scarlet wing
r e he d Bid us fo g t t night in d awning ay ,
e N e e e s ad an d Ski s of ov mb r, sull n , , gray,
Once hung above this with ered covering .
‘ T r S h s he e is no pring th at Autumn a not known ,
No r n S h s e a y Autumn pring a not divin d , T he odor of d ead flowers on the wind
e r er Sh all but n ich a fair blossoming,
An d e er r reez w though th y shiv f om a b e outblo n ,
T he e A leav s of utumn gu ard the buds of Sp ring .
The Outlook Cor in n e Roos evelt Robin s on
A Moun tain Gateway
e n KNOW a vale wh re I would go o e day , When June comes back an d all t he world once more
Dee e e Is gl ad with summer . p with sh ad it li s,
h ree s s A mighty cleft in t e g n bo oming hill , ’
a ea . A cool, dim gateway to the mount ins h rt
e h e e On eith r s id e t e wood d slop s come down , Hemlock an d beech an d ch es tnut ; here an d th ere
e re e n d Through t he de p fo s t l aurel spr ad s a gleams, Pink- white as Daphne in her loveliness
20 OF MAGAZINE VERSE
Th at still perfection from the world withdrawn, As if the wood gods h ad arrested there
Immort al beauty in her breathless flight .
Far overhead against t he arching blue
r e Gray ledges ove h ang from diz2y h ights, n d Scarred by a thousand winters a untamed .
T r er he road winds in f om t he broad riv lands,
Luring the h appy traveler turn by turn ,
Up to the lofty mo untains of the sky .
’ And where the road runs in the valley s foot, Through t he d ar k woods the mountain stream comes
down , Sin gin g an d dancing all its youth away
Among the bo ulders an d the sh allow runs,
Where sunbeams pierce an d mossy tree trunks h ang,
Drenched all day long with murmuring sound an d s pr ay .
e n e There, light of h art a d foo tfr e, I would go
Up to my home among the l asting hills,
An d in my cabin doorway sit me down, Companioned in that leafy solitude
By the wood ghosts of twilight an d of peace .
e And in that sweet seclusion I should h ar,
- e h e Among the cool leafed be ches in t dusk, The calm- voiced th ru s hes at their evening hymn
So undistr aught, so raptu rous, so pure,
n It well might be, in wisdom a d in joy, T he seraphs singing at t h e birth of time
T he unworn ritu al of eternal thin gs .
The S ma rt S et Blis s Ca rman The Flight
W ’ ILD Heart, track the land s perfume, Beach- roses an d moo r- heather! All fragrances of herb an d bloom
a t se e F il, out a a, tog ther . 0 follow where aloft find roo m Lark- song an d eagle- feather ! All ecstasies of throat an d plume o u Melt, high on y blue weather.
0 leave on sky an d ocean lost T he flight creation dareth ;
Take wings of love, th at mounts the most; e f Find fame, th at furt h st areth !
Thy flight, albeit amid her host
- e Thee, too, night star lik beareth, ’ Flying, t hy breast on heaven s coast,
The in fin ite o utweareth .
’ Dead o er us roll celestial fires ; ’ Mute stand Eart h s ancient beaches ;
Old thoughts , old instincts, old desires, T he p assing hou r outreaches ; The soul creative never tires
e e Evok s , adores, beseech s ; An d that heart most the god inspires
Whom most its wildness teaches .
Fo r I will course through falling years, An d stars an d cities burning ; OF MAGAZINE VERSE
An d I will m arch through dyin g cheers Past empires unreturning; Ever the world- flame reappears r Where m ankind powe is earning, ’ ’ o e The nations hopes , the pe ple s t ars, ” On e with the wild heart yearning . ’ S cr ibn er s Magazin e George Edward W oodberry
Magic RAN into the sunset light As h ard as I could run The treetops bowed in sheer delight As if t hey loved the sun An d all the songs of little birds Who laughed an d cried in silver words
Were joined as they were one .
And down the streaming golden sky A lark came circling with a cry Of wonder- weaving joy And all the arch of heaven rang Where meadowlands of d reaming hang
As when I was a boy .
An d through the ringing solitude In pulsing lovely amplitude
A mist hung in a sh roud , As though the light of loneliness
Turned pure delight to holiness, An d bathed it in a cloud . 33 THE GOLDEN TREASURY
I stripped my l aughing body bare An d plunged into th at holy air
T a e me e s h at w sh d lik a ea, An d raced against its silver tide Th at stroked my eager glancing side
An d m ademy spirit free .
Across the limits of t he land T he wind an d I swept h and in h and B eyond the golden glow . W e d anced across the ocean plain Like th rus hes singing in t he rain
A song of long ag o .
An d on into the silver night We strove to win the race with light
e An d bring t he vision hom , An d bring t he wond er home again Unto the s leeping eyes of men
Across t he singing foam .
An d down t he river of the world Our glowing limbs in glory swi rled
er As s pring within a flow , An d stars in music of d elight Streamed gaily down our s houlders
Like petals in a s hower .
And tears of awful wonder ran Adown my cheeks to hear the clan Of beauty ch aunting white 24 OF MAGAZINE VERSE
The prayer too dee p for living word, n Or sight of ma , or winging bird , Or music over fores t heard
At falling of the night .
And dropping slowly as t he dew On grasses th at t he winds renew e In urge of flooding fir , And softly as the hus hing boughs The gentle airs of d awn arouse ’ To cradle morning s quire,
The murmur of the singing leaves
re F Around the sec t lame, ’ Like m ating swallows n eath the eaves
e In rustling sil nce came, And flowing through the silent air Creation fluttered in a prayer D escending on a spir al stair,
And calling me by n ame .
It nestled in my dreaming eyes
Like heaven in a lake , An d softened hope into s ur prise ’ s For very beauty s ake,
And silence blossomed into morn , Whose fragrant rosy- breas ted d awn
Could scarcely bear to break .
I sang into the morning light s As loud a I could sing, The treetops bowed in sheer delight
Before a slanting wing, 35 THE GOLDEN TREASURY
And all the songs of little birds Who laughed an d cried in silver words
Adored the Risen Spring . ’ Trimmed La mp Edward O B rien
Earth
RASSHOPPER, your fairy so ng And my poem alike belong To the deep an d silent eart h From which all poetry h as birth ; All we s ay an d all we sing Is but as t he murmu ring Of that drowsy heart of hers When from her deep dream she stirs
' If we sorrow, or rejoice, n You a d I are but her vo ice .
Deftly does the dust express
In mind her hidden loveliness, An d from her coo l silence stream ’ ’ The cricket s cry an d Dante s dream For the earth th at breeds the trees n Breeds cities too, a d symphonies, Equ ally her beauty flows
Into a savior, or a rose n a Looks down in dream , a d from bove ’ Smiles at herself in Jesus love . ’ ’ Christ s love an d h omer s art Are but the workings of her heart;
THE GOLDEN TREASURY
If you wo uld know what eart h is, scan
The intricate, proud heart of man ,
W hich is the eart h art iculate, w And learn how holy an d ho great, How limitless an d ho w profound Is the n ature of t he ground How without terror or demur We may entrust ourselves to her e r n l Wh n we a e wearied out, a d ay
Our faces in the common clay .
For she is pity, she is love, h l e All wisdom s e, a l thoughts that mov About her everl asting breast Till she gathers them to rest ll All tenderness of a the ages,
Seraphic secrets of the sages,
Vision an d hope of all the seers, n d ll All prayer, all anguish , a a tears
r a Are but the dust, that f om her dre m n Awakes, a d knows herself supreme Are but earth when she reveals All th at her secret heart conceals n Down in the d ark a d silent loam ,
e t . Which is ourselves asl ep, a home
Yea, an d this my poem , too,
Is part of her as dust an d dew, Wherein herself s he doth declare n Through my lips, a d s ay her prayer . Yale Review j ohn Hall Wheelock
28 OF MAGAZINE VERSE
The Road n ot Taken
W O roads diverged in a yellow woo d , And sor ry I could not tr avel both be o n e And traveler, long I stood And looked down o n e as far as I could To where it bent in the und ergrowth ;
r Then took the other, as just as fai , And h aving per h aps t he better claim
Because it was grassy an d wanted wear, Though as for th at the passing there
H d e s e a worn th m really about the am ,
And both that morning equ ally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black .
Oh, I m arked t he firs t for another day ! Yet knowing how w ay leads on to way
I doubted if I should ever come back .
I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages an d ages hence : r e Two oads diverg d in a wood , an d I , o n e le I took the ss traveled by,
And that h as m ade all the difleren ce . Atla n tic Mon thly Robert Frost
The Adven turer
E did not come in t he red d awn ,
Nor in the blaze of noo n , And all t he long bright highway La y lonely to the moon , THE GOLDEN TREASURY
d An nevermo re, we know n ow, Will he come wande ring down The breezy hollows of the hills
That gird the quiet town .
For he has heard a voice cry “ A star ry- fa in t Ahoy ! e n Far up t h wind , a d followed n Unquestioni g after joy .
But we are long forgettin g w The quiet ay he went, With looks of love an d gentle scorn
o e s S sw etly, ubtly blent .
We cannot cease to wonder,
We who have loved him, how He fares along t he windy ways
His feet must travel now .
But we must draw the curtain And fasten bolt an d bars And talk here in the firelight
Of him beneath t he stars . B ellman S hepard
Good Company — O DAY I have grown taller from walking with the
r e t e s , T he seven sister- poplars who go softly in a line ; An d I think my heart is whiter fo r its parley with a star
Th at trembled out at nightfall an d hun g abo ve the pine . 30 OF MAGAZINE VERSE
The call-no te o f a redbird fro m the cedars in the dusk Woke his h appy mate within me to an an swer free an d fin e ; An d a sudden an gel beckoned from a column of blue smoke
or he ol ol o L d, who a m I that they s hould s toop t se h y f k f thin e ?
The P oetry Review of Amer ica Karle W ils on B aker
T0 No On e in Particular
OCATE your love, you lose your
n r . Fi d he , you look away e e er e Now min I n v quit discern ,
r d I t ace her every ay .
e h re e Sh as a thousand p s nces , As su rely seen an d heard As birds th at hide behind a leaf
Or leaves th at hide a bird .
Single your love, you lose your love, You cloak her face with clay; Now mine I never quite discern An d e nev r look away . P oetry: A Magazin e of Verse W itter Byn n er
The S ea- Lan ds
- OULD I were on t he sea lands, Where winds know how to sting; An d in the rocks at midnight n The lost long murmurs si g . THE GOLDEN TREASURY
Would I were with my first love To hear the rush an d roar Of spume below the doorstep
An d winds upon the door .
My first love was a fair girl With ways forever new;
And h air a sunlight yellow, e And yes a morning blue .
e r e T h oses, h ave th y tarried Or are they dun an d frayed ?
If we h ad stayed together, e ? Would love, inde d, have stayed
ea Ah, years are filled with l rning, And d ays are leaves of ch ange ! An d I have met so m any
I kn ew an d found them strange.
But on the sea- lands tumbled
By winds th at sting an d blind ,
e T he nights we watched , so sil nt,
Come back, come back to mind .
r I mind about my fi st love, An d hear the rus h an d roar Of spum e below t he doorstep
An d winds upon the door. The F orum Orrick j ohn s
33 OF MAGAZINE VERSE
The New Platon ist
Circa 1 640
UR loves as flowers fall to dust; The noblest singing h ath an end ;
s m tr No man to his own oul ay ust,
r is r e Nor to t he kind a ms of h f i nd ,
e ree Yet h ave I glimpsed by lon ly t ,
Bright baths of immortality .
My faultless teachers bid me fare
r n The cyp ess p ath of blood a d tears, Treading t he thorny wold to where The painful Cross of Chr ist appears ; ’ er er T was on anoth , sunni hill,
e . I met you first, my miracl
The painted windows burn an d fl ame Up through the music- h aunted air ; ere n d These w my gods a then you came,
w e n d - With flowers cro n d a sun kissed hair, M aking this nor thern river seem
- Some laughter girdled Grecian stream .
When the fierce foem an of our r ace
M arsh als his lords of lust an d pride, ’ a e You spring within mom nt s space,
- n d Full armed a smiling to my side .
0 golden heart ! The love you gave me,
n s . Alone has saved , a d yet will ave me 33 THE GOLDEN TREASURY
Perchance we h ave no perfect city
Beyond the wrack of these our wars , Till Death alone in sacred pity Wash with long sleep our wounds an d scars ; So much the more I praise in measure
e o The g nerous god s f r you, my treasure . New Republic Cuthbert W r ight
ALFW AY up the Hemlock valley turnpike, ’ m In t he bend of Silver Water s ar ,
Where the deer come trooping down at even, n d e Drink the cowslip pool, a f ar no h arm, E Dwells mili a,
Flower of t he fields of Camlo t Farm .
Sitting sewing by the western window
As the too brief mountain sunshine flies , Hast thou seen a slender- shouldered figure
r e - With a chestnut b aid , Min rva wise, h Round er temples ,
r r e ? Shadowing he g ay, nch anted eyes
When the fresh ets flood the Silver Water, When the swallow flying nort hward braves Sleetin g rains th at sweep the birchen foo thills ’ Where the wildflowers p ale plantation waves ! Fairy gardens
Springing from the dead leaves in their graves) , 34
THE GOLDEN TREASURY
e Did they seek h r, wandering by the water, They should find her comrades shy an d stran ge n Queens an d princesses, a d saints an d fairies, Dimly moving in a cloud of ch ange Desdemon a ;
Marian a o f the Moated Gr ange .
Up this valley to the fair an d m arket
When young far mer s from the southward ride, Oft they linger at a sound of chanting In the meadows by t he turnpike side ; e Long they list n ,
Deep in fancies of a fairy bride . The Atlan tic Mon thly S arah N Cleghorn
24 The Interpreter
N the very early morning when the light was low,
She got all ready an d she went like snow,
Like snow in the springtime on a sunny hill, ’ And we were only fr ighten ed an d can t think still .
’ We can t think quite th at the katydids an d frogs
And t he little ch eeping chicken s an d the little gr unting hogs, And t he other living things th at s he spoke for to us
H ave nothing more to tell her since it h appened thus .
e She n ever is around for anyon to touch , But of ecs tasy an d longing she too knew much An d always when anyone h as time to call his o wn
She. will come an d be beside him as quiet as a stone . Con tempor a ry Vers e Or r ick j ohn s 36 OF MAGAZINE VERSE
The Look
T REPHON kissed me in the
Robin in the fall, But Colin only looked at me l And never kissed at a l.
S ’ w trephon s kiss as lost in jest, ’ Robin s los t in play, ’ But the kiss in Colin s eyes
e n H aunts m night a d day . ’ Har per s Magazin e S ara Teasdale
Immortal Love
THOU who clothest thyself in myst ic form , n d e n Color, a gl am , a d lonely distances ; s he Whose eat t m ajesty of ocean is, ’ Shot o er with motions of the skyey storm ! Thou with whose mortal bre ath t he soul doth warm e Her b ing, soar ing to etern al bliss ; Whose revelation unto us is this
Dilated world , starred with its golden swarm !
’ Thee rather in myself th an heaven s vast light e er e Flooding the d aybreak, b tt I disc rn ; e ll e r The glorious morning m ak s a n atur b ight, r n But in the soul doth riot mo e, a d burn ; i A thous and beaut és rush upon my sight,
But to the greater light within I turn . . T HE GOLDEN TREASURY
I know not who thou art to whom I pray,
Or th at indeed thou art , apart from me; e A dwell r in a lone eternity, a Or participant of my s ad way . I only know th at at the fall of day Fain would I in thy world companion thee; Upon the mystery of thy breast to be
n . Unconscious, a d within thy love to stay
I lose thee in the largeness when I think ; e And wh n again I feel, I find thee nigh ; ’ T he more my mind goes out to n ature s brink, The more thou art remo v é d like the sky;
But when concentrated in love I sink,
Thou art my nucleus ; there I live an d die .
o fo r Immort al L ve, too high my possessing,
a re e ? Yet, lower th an thee, where sh ll I find pos
Long in my youth I sang t he morning rose, By earthly things the heavenly pattern guessin g ! e n r Long fared I on , b auty a d love ca essing, And finding in my heart a place fo r those Etern al fugitives ; the golden close
b n . Of evenin g folds me, still their sweetness lessi g
w - b 0 h appy e, t he first o m heirs of n ature, For whom th e Heavenly Sun delays his lig ht ! 38 OF MAGAZINE VERSE
He by the sweets of every mortal creature Tempers etern al beauty to our sight ; ’ And by the glow upon love s earthly feature
a e the a o ur r e r M k th p th of depa tur b ight . ’ S cr ibn er s Magazin e George Edward W oodber ry
Peter Quince at the Clavier
UST as my fingers on these keys
- M ake music, so t he self s ame sounds
On my spirit m ake a music, too .
e Music is fe lin g, then, not soun d ;
And thus it is th at wh at I feel,
s r es r Here in thi oom , d i ing you ,
- Thinking of your blue sh adowed silk, e Is music . It is like th strain Waked in t he elders by Susann a
n Of a green evening, clear a d warm ,
She bathed in her s till garden , while
- e T he red eyed elders, watching, f lt
The basses of their beings throb
s r In Witching chord , an d thei thin blood
Pulse pizz icati of Hosann a .
r e n In the green wate , cl ar a d warm ,
Susann a lay . 39 THE GOLDEN TREASURY
She searched
The touch of Sprin gs, And found
Concealed im aginings .
She sighed ,
For so much melody .
Upon the bank, she In t he cool
Of s pent emotions . h e e s S e f lt, among the l ave , The dew
Of old devotions .
She walked upon the grass,
Still qu avering .
T he winds were like her m aids,
On timid feet,
Fetching her woven scarves,
Yet wavering .
A breath upon her
Muted the night . She turned
A cymbal crashed ,
s And roaring horn .
Soon, with a noise like tambourines, s Came her attendant Byz antine .
They wondered why Susanna cr ied Against t h e elders by her side ; OF MAGAZINE VERSE
e And as they whispered , th refrain
W as like a willow swept by rain .
’ e e Anon , their lamps uplift d flam
Revea led Susann a an d her s hame .
And then , the simpering Byz antines,
Fled, with a noise like tambourines .
Beauty is momentary in t he mind The fitful tracing of a portal;
But in th e flesh it is immortal .
’ The body dies ; t h e body s beauty lives,
So evenings die, in their green going,
A wave, intermin ably flowing . So r e e ga d ns die, th ir meek breath scenting er e e The cowl of Wint , don r penting . So e e m aid ns die, to th auroral ’ e a e Cel bration of a m id n s choral .
’ Susann a s music touched th e bawdy strings
Of those white elders ; but, es caping, ’ Left only Death s ironic scraping .
a Now, in its immort lity, it plays
On the clear viol of her memory,
And m akes a constant s acrament of praise . Others : A Magazin e of the New Verse W allace S teven s THE GOLDEN TREASURY
The Unknown Beloved
DREAMED I passed a doorway Where fo r a sign of death White ribbons one was bindin g
Abo ut a flowery wreath .
What drew me so I knew not,
But drawing near I said ,
Kind sir , an d will you tell me ” Who is it here lies dead ?
Said he, Your most beloved e Died h re this very day , That had known t wen ty Aprils ” Had she but lived till May .
e a s As tonish d I m de an wer, “ Good sir, how s ay you so! e Her h ave I no beloved , e This hous I do not kn ow.
' d Quoth he , Who from the world s en W as d estined unto thee e Here lies, thy true b loved , e Whom thou shalt never se .
I dreamed I passed a doorway Where fo r a sign of d eath
‘ White ribbons one was binding
About a flowery wreath . Lyr ic j ohn Hall W heelock
THE GOLDEN TREASURY
An d the splashing of waterdro ps In the m arble fountain
Comes down the garden paths .
T he dr ipping never stops . Underneath my stiffened gown
Is t he softness of a wom an bathing in a m arble basin, A basin in the mid s t of hedges grown
So thick , s he cannot s ee her lover hiding, e But s h guesses he is n ear, And the sliding of the water Seems t he stroking of a dear
H and upon her . Wh at is Summer in a fin e bro caded gown !
e see ea e I should lik to it lying in a h p upon th ground . All the pink an d silver crumpled up on t he ground .
b n n h I would e the pink a d silver as I ra along t e paths ,
And he would stumble after,
Bewildered by my laughter . I should see the sun flashing from his sword hilt an d th e
buckles on his shoes . I would choose
e a e e To l ad him in m az along the patt rned p aths,
n d a - A bright a l ughing m az e for my heavy booted lover , ‘ e Till he caught me in t h sh ad e, And the buttons of his waistcoat bruised my body as h e e clasp d me,
Aching, melting, un afr aid .
s n d he With the h adows of the leaves a t sundrops,
dro s And the plopping of t he water p , All about us in the open afternoon I am very like to swoon 44 OF MAGAZINE VERSE
e With the weight of this brocad ,
For the sun sifts through the shade.
Underneath the fallen blossom
In my bosom ,
Is a letter I h ave hid . It was brought to me this morning by a rider from the
Duke . r ar Mad am , we regret to inform you th at Lo d H twell ’ ” Died in action T hursd ay sen night .
As I read it in the white morning s unlight,
The letters squirmed like sn a kes . “ ”
a . Any answer, M ad am, said my footm n ” No, I told him .
See th at the messenger takes some refreshment . ”
e . No, no answ r e e And I walk d into the gard n,
Up an d down the p atterned p aths,
r . In my stiff, cor ect brocade n e er The blue a d y llow flow s stood up proudly in the sun ,
Each one .
I stood upright too, Held rigid to t he p attern
ff es By the sti n s of my gown .
Up an d down I walked ,
Up an d down .
he e e In a month would h av be n my husband .
ere e s In a month, h , undern ath thi lime, We would h ave broken the pattern ; n d He for me, a I for him, s He as Colonel, I a lady, THE GOLDEN TREASURY
On this sh ady seat. He had a whim
Th at sunlight carried blessing . “ a e e s a be as And I nsw r d , It h ll you h ave said .
Now he is dead .
In Summer an d in Winter I sh all walk Up an d down The p atterned garden paths
In my stiff, brocaded gown . T he s quills an d d affodils
e a e a e e . Will giv pl c to pill r d ros s, an d to asters, an d to snow I s h all go n Up a d down ,
In my gown . r e e Go g ously array d ,
Boned an d stayed . An d t he softness of my body will be guarded from embrace
n d a By each button , hook, a l ce .
F he man se e s o r t who should loo m i dead , e D F Fighting with t h uke in landers,
In a p attern called a w ar . Christ ! Wh at are p atterns for ? The Little Review Amy Lowell
Evensong
This s on g is of n o importan ce, I will on ly impr ovis e;
r Yet, maybe, he e a n d ther e, S udden ly fr om thes e s oun ds a chord will s tart
rc l r An d pie in g y touch my hea t. 46 OF MAGAZINE VERSE
e N the p ale m auve twilight, streaked with orang ,
s Exqui itely sweet, She leaned upon her balcony an d loo ked across t he st reet ;
An d across the huddled roofs of the misty city,
A e e e so ra cross t h hills of t nem nts, g y,
She looked into t he west with a young an d infin ite pity,
s a With a young an d wistful pity, as if to y
T he d ark was coming, an d irresistible night , Which man would attempt to meet
With h ere an d there a little flickering light . ll e e T he orange fad ed , t he housetops a w r black, And a str ange an d beautiful quiet e Came unexpected , came exquisit ly sweet, On m arket- place an d street ; And where were l ate ly crowds an d sounds an d riot r r ea es W as a gentle blowing of wind , a mu mu of l v ,
n d e ea e A single ste p, o r voice, a und r the v s
The scrambling of sparrows ; an d then t he hush swept b ack .
he r n She leaned upon her balcony, in t d a k ess , Foldin g h er h ands beneath h er chin ; And watched the lamps begin
e e e e Here an d there to pierc lik yes t h d arkn ess, n r From wi dows, luminous ooms, And from t he d amp d ark street
ee e an d h e Bet w n t h moving branches , t e leav s
still sweet .
e es s se It was strange : t h leav thu en , T HE GOLDEN TREASURY
’ With th e lamplight s cold bright glare thrown up among
them , e re T h stless m aple leaves,
Twinkling their myriad sh adows beneath the eaves, ere e e a W lov li r, lmost, th an with sunlight on them , So br ight they were with young translucent green ;
re e e s . We lov li r, almo t, th an with moonlight on them
And looking so wis tfully across the city,
n e n d e With such a young, a d wis , a infin it pity For t he girl who h ad no lover
o T walk with her along a s treet like this, f r With slow steps in t he rain , both aching o a kiss,
It seemed as if all evenings were the same, As if all evenings came With just such tragic peacefulness as this;
With just such hint of loneliness or p ain, e The qui t after rain .
er e r a Would h lover, th n , g ow old sooner th n she, And find a night like this too d amp to walk ?
s n Would he p refer to tay indoors a d talk, s e a e Or read the evening paper , while s h e ew d , or d rn d a
sock, And listened to t he ticking of t he clock Would he prefer it to lamplight on a tree ? n d e Would he be old a tir d ,
d ll e re An , h aving a the comforts h desi d , T ake no in teres t in t he twilight coming down So beautifully an d quietly on the town ? ? Would her lover, then , grow old sooner th an she 48 OF MAGAZINE VERSE
A neighbor start ed singing, singing a child to sleep . w It as strange : a song thus heard ,
In the misty evening, after an afternoon of rain , e Seem d more beautiful th an h appiness, more beautiful
th an pain, S n eemed to escape the music a d the word ,
Only, somehow, to keep a n A w rmth th at was lovelier th an the song of a y bird .
W as e s r e it becaus it came up th rough thi t e ,
Through the lucent leaves th at twinkled on this tree, With t he bright lamp there beneath them in t he street ? It w as exquisitely sweet :
So ffe e un a ct d , so unconscious th at it was heard . was e e Or it because s h look d across the city,
e Across the hills of tenem nts, so black, An d thought of all t he mothers with a young an d infinite pity ?
d e The child h a fallen asl ep, the hush swept back,
The leaves hung lifeless on t he tree .
w s b d e w s r It a too a th sky a d a k .
A cat came slinking close along the wall . w n For the moon as full just now, a d in the park,
s e e e r ll If t he ky w r cl a at a ,
T he lovers upon the moonlight grass would sprawl, in n n An d whisper the sh adows, a d l augh , a d there r She would be going, m aybe, with a white ose in h air e But would youth at last grow w ary of these things, 49 T HE GOLDEN T REASURY
n d Of the ribbons a the laces, ’ And the latest way of putting up one s h air ?
e Would she no longer car , a In th t undiscovered future of recurring springs ,
If, growing old an d plain , she no longer turned the faces And s aw the people stare ? Would s he hear music an d not yearn ’ To take her lover s arm fo r o n e more tu rn ?
T e r h leaves hung b eathless on the d r ipping m aple tree,
The man acros s t he street was going out .
w he e e e e as r . It t v ning m ad h think such things, no doubt But would her lover grow old sooner th an s he ?
t e e e a her b“ Only h v ning m de think such things, no dou t
n d And yet, a y et , See t he re n ing ti d city, a d t he trees so still an d wet, It s eemed as if all evenings were t he s ame ;
As ll e e if a v nings came,
Des e her e at pit smil thinking of a kiss , With just such tr agic peacefulness as this ; With jus t such hint of loneliness o r p ain ;
The perfect quiet th at comes after r ain . The P oetry Review of Amer ica Con rad Aiken
W aiting
THOUGHT my heart would break
ec se t he S r was B au p ing slow . “ A I said , How long young pril sleeps ” Beneath t he s now !
THE GOLDEN TREASURY
- all I never hear the winter rain a pelting night through, an d n Without I think mi d me of how cold it falls on you .
' An d e a if I com not often to your bed bene th t he thyme, ’ ’ ’ wi n d M ayh ap t is th at I d ch ange ye, a gie my bed for
thine,
e Would lik to sleep in thine .
e e er I nev r h ar the summ winds among the ros es blow,
e was e e he e Without I wond r why it y lov d t lassi so . Ye me a e n d an d e gave c k s a lollipops pr tty toys a score,
e n I n ver thought I should come back a d as k y e now fo r more . Gr d i e e an m t her, gie me your s till, whit h ands, th at li upon
your breast, For mine do beat t he d ar k all night an d n ever find me rest; ’ They grope among t he s h adows an they beat the cold
black air, ’ ’ i e They go seck n in the d arkness, an they n ver find him
e e th r ,
As They never fin d him there .
e e Gran dmither, gie me your sightl ss yes, that I may never see ’ ’ - His o wn a burnin full 0 love th at must n ot shine for me .
d i r r s Gran m t he , gie me you peaceful lips, white a the
kirkyard snow, ’ ’ ’ Fo r mine be red wi burnin thirs t an he must never know .
d i r i - e r Gran m t he , g e me your clay stopped a s, th at I may never hear ’ ’ My lad a- s ingin in t he night when I am sick wi fear; ’ A- singing when t he moonlight over a t he land is white ’ ’ ’ Aw - God ! I ll up an go to him a singin in t he night, ’ A- callin in t he night . OF MAGAZINE VERSE
- Gran dmither, gie me yo ur clay cold heart th at has forgot to ache For mine be fire within my breast an d yet it cannot
re b ak . ’ It beats an t h robs forever for t he things th at must not
be, ’ ’ An can y e not let me cre ep in an rest awhile by y e ? ’ A little lass afeard 0 d ar k s le pt by y e years agone ’ ’ n Ah, she h as fo un d wh at night can hold twixt sunset a ’ the d awn ! ’ f r e So when I pl ant t he ros e an r ue above your gr ave o y , ’ ’ ’ b Ye ll know it s under r ue an r ose th at I would like to e,
Th at I would like to be . ’ McClure s Magazin e W illa S ibert Cather
Hungarian Love- Lament
HEY say the cr anes l ast night did cry
Overhead .
I did not hear them, ’ Fo r in a but by T isz a s torrents
My love lies dead . I heard t he whinny of her milk- white steed
Calling to her ,
T hat heard I . ’ They s ay t he o ak - tree s leaves are sere Wh at care I ? I have some faded violets ; Those I hold dear
She gave them me . THE GOLDEN TREASURY
’ ’ They say that Szo ln o k s field s afire;
If so, I care n o r. That could not keep me from my love
Were she not cold . ’ ’ Saw st Szo ln o k s fl ames ? e Oh, well, th y could not warm me ;
My blood is chilled . They s ay three gypsies at t he tavern
Sang their songs . Let them sing ! I could not d ance
I am too lonely for their minstrelsy .
I wish my love might waken ,
But she cannot .
e s e r e Fr sh violets h would b ing m ,
But she will not . ’ s Fo r cold in death s he lies, by T isz a torrents , ’ And she ll not come again !
She cannot . f Let the wild cr anes cry , ar an d high ,
v O erhead . ’ Lippin cott s Magazin e
OFT as a treader on mosses I go th rough the vill age th at sleeps ;
T he village too early abed ,
For t he night still s huflles , a gypsy, e s In th wood of t he east,
An d the west remembers t he sun . OF MAGAZINE VERSE
Not all are asleep ; there are faces
That lean from the walls of the gardens . se Look sh arply, or you will not e them , t e e Or think t hem ano h r stone in t h wall . n d I spoke to a stone, a it answered Like an agéd rock that crumbles
Each falling piece was a word . ” Five have I buried , it s aid , ” An d seven are over t he sea .
h a ‘ s Here is a hut t t I p as ,
s So lowly it ha no brow,
And dwarfs sit wi thin at a table . A boy waits apart by the hearth ; e firel On his face is the pati nce of ight ,
- But his eyes seek the door an d a far world . a he It is not the c ll to the table waits,
- s But the call of t he sea rimmed forest ,
And cities th at stir in a dream . e - I haste by th low browed door, an d a Lest my arms go in betr y me,
A mother jealously passing . n d He will go, the p ale dwarf, a walk tall among his t h e far The child with eyes on l and ,
And fame like a young curled leaf in his hear t .
The stream that d arts from t he h anging hill n Like a silver wing th at must si g as it flies, Is folded an d still on the breast
Of the village th at sleeps . a E ch mute old house is more old t h an the other, And each wear s its vines like ragged h air 5 5 T HE GOLDEN TREASURY
- Round the h alf blind windows .
If a child should laugh , if a girl should sing,
Would the houses rub t he vines from their eyes, And listen an d live ?
A voice comes now from a cottage,
n A voice th at is young a d must sing,
e t e i A hon yed stab on h a r ,
And t he hous es do not wa ke .
r e - e I look th ough the l af blows d window,
r s z er s s - And sta t a a ga who, p a ing a death vault,
Sees Life sitting hopeful within .
r - She is young, but a wom an, ound breasted , Waiting t he per il of Ev e ; An d s he m akes t he sh adows a bo ut her sweet
- As t he glooms th at play in a pine wood .
s r s c r e s r She its at a h a p i ho d !old as t h wall a e) ,
e An d longing flows in t h tr ic kling, fairy notes Like a hidden brook in a fores t
n s e Seeking a d e king t he sun .
I h ave watched a young tree on t he edge of a wood When t he mist is weaving an d dr ifting;
he s e n d es e Slowly t boughs di app ar , a t he leav r ach out
e e e Lik t h d rowning h ands of childr n , T ill a grey blur quivers cold
ere t he ree r e r e Wh g n g ac d ank of t h sun .
o e s S now, as I gaz , t he morrow Cree p weaving an d winding their mist
Round t he beaut y of her who s ings .
‘ e e e e Th y hid t h soft r ings of h r h air, ’ Dear as a child s cu rling fingers; 56 OF MAGAZINE VERSE
They s hut out the trembling sun of eyes ’ Th at are d eep as a bending mother s ;
And her brid al body is scarfed with their chill .
r Fo r old , an d old , is the sto y;
e r Over an d over I h a it, Over an d over I listen to murmur s Th at are always the s ame in these towns th at sleep ;
n d e a as es Where, grey a unw d , a wom n p s , a r Her cr amped , dr ab gown t he bounds of wo ld She holds with grief an d s ilence ; An d a gossip whose tongue alone is unwithered Mumbles t he tale by her affable gate ; n d t he r s a How t he lad must go, a gi l mu t st y, Singing alone to t he ye ars an d a dream ;
T e e e r r h n a l tt r, a rumo , a wo d , From the land th at reac hes for lovers And gives them not back ; An d t he m aiden looks up with a face th at is old ;
s e r a e Her mil , as her body, is evermo e b rr n ; Her cheek like t he b ar k of the beech- tree e Where climbs the grey wint r.
Now h ave I seen her young,
The lone gir l singing, n d With t he full , round breast a the berry lip, An d heart th at runs to a d awn- r ise
- r On new wo ld mountains . The weeping as h in the dooryard a e G thers t h song in its boughs, An d e t h gown of d awn s he will never wear . 57 THE GOLDEN TREASURY
- i . I can listen no more; good by , litt le town , old Fa rin gdown
I climb the long, d ark hill side,
But the ache I have found here I cannot outclimb . w 0 Heart, if we had not heard , if e did not know There is th at in the village th at never will sleep !
Hampshire, England . ’ S cr ibn er s Magazin e Olive Tilford Dargan
Motherhood
s e ARY, the Christ long lain , p assed sil ntly, Following the child ren joyously astir
e n e- e Under the c dr us a d the oliv tre ,
Pausing to let their laughter float to h er . e r Each voice an echo of a voice more d a , She saw a little Christ in every face ;
When 10 , another woman , gliding near, ’ Yearned o er the tender life th at filled t he place . ’ n d And M ary sought the woman s h and , a spoke “ e I know thee not, yet know thy memory toss d With all a thousand dreams their eyes evoke
Who br ing to thee a child beloved an d los t .
I , too, h ave rocked my little one,
w s ! O, He a fair he a Yea, fairer th an t f irest sun , And like its rays th rough amber spun
- His sun bright h air .
Still I can see it s hine an d shine . ” “ e w e Even so, t h wom an said, as min .
THE GOLDEN TREASURY
Or care so much when they come back With whatever it is they sing; The truth be ing we are as much Too glad for the one thing
As we are too sad fo r the other here With birds that fill their breas ts But with each other an d themselves
And their built or driven nes ts .
HOUS E F EAR
Always I tell you this they learned Always at night when they returned T o the lonely house from far away
To lamps unlighted an d fire gone gray, They learned to rattle the lock an d key T o give whatever might ch ance to be Warn i ng an d time to be off in flight :
- And preferring the out to the in door night, They learned to leave t he house-door wide d Until they h a lit the lamp inside .
T HE S MILE
!Her W ord)
’ I did n t like the way he went away . T e h at smile ! It never c ame of b ing g ay . — Still he smiled did you see him ? I was sure ! Per h aps because we gave him only bread
And the wretch knew from th at that we were poor. Per h aps because he let us give instead 60 OF MAGAZINE VERSE
‘ n i Of seiz i g from us as he might h ave se zed .
Perhaps he mocked at us for being wed , Or being very young ! an d he was pleased) n d a To have a vision of us old a de d) . ’ I wonder how far down the road he s got . ’ He s watching from the woods as like as not .
T HE OFT - REPEAT ED DREAM
She h ad no s aying d ark enough For the d ark pine th at ke pt Forever trying t he window- latch
Of the room where th ey sle pt .
The tireles s but ineffectu al h ands Th at with every futile pass M ade t he grea t tree seem as a little bird Before the mystery of gl as s !
It never h ad been inside the room , And only one o f t he two W as afraid in an oft- re peated dream
Of wh at the tree might do .
T HE IMPULS E
It was too lonely for her there,
And too wild ,
An d since there were but two of them ,
And no child ,
And work was little in the house,
She was free,
e And followed where he furrowed fi ld ,
Or felled tree . 6: THE GOLDEN TREASURY
She rested on a log an d tossed T h r e f esh chips, With a song only to herself
On her lips .
And once s he went to b reak a bough
Of black alder . She strayed so far s he scarcely heard When he called her
’ ’ And did n t answer did n t speak
Or return .
She stood , an d then she r an an d hid
In the fern .
e e e e He n v r found h r, though h looked E ve rywhere, ’ And he asked at her mother s house
he er W as s th e .
Sudden an d swift an d light
T he ties gave, And he learned of fin alities e e B sid t he grave .
Yale Review Robert F ros t
The W ife
e e E sees t he wif , from slim young com liness, n d r With bearing of his children a their ca e,
d e e an d he r Grow stooped an with r d , t shining h ai That was his pr ide grow thin an d lustreless ;
6a OF MAGAZ INE VERSE
Day after day , with wordless, pained distress, r He strives to ease the load her shoulders bea ,
Lifting a burden here, a burd en there,
ff a . Or o ering some clumsy, rare c ress
- But ah ! her girl face n ever was so fair, r e e And eyes an d lips th at answe ed his d sir , Are limned with s acred meaning to him now ; n e a To his rapt sight, a ang l might spire s ar To claim t he stature of her oul, or we
- T he halo th at surrounds her mother brow . Delin eator An n a Spen cer Twitchell
Needle Travel
SIT e n d w at hom a se ,
I ply my needle an d th read , ’ But the tr ip around t he garment s Is not t he p ath I tread ;
- My stitches neat, ea With their rhythmic b t, e e ffere Ke p time to v ry di nt feet,
On a different journey sped .
Now, glad hear t
- e - Tip to , tip toe,
They must not hear you,
They must not know, . They must not follow where T HE GOLDEN TREASURY
Bare,brown feet on the dusty road,
Unbound body free of its load , Limbs th at need no stinging goad
Step , step out on t he dusty road .
Friends to greet on the jolly road ,
Lo ein n d s a p g rabbit, a qu atting to d ,
Beetle, tr undling along with your load ;
H r ey , little f iends,
- - r Good day , good mo row,
see - d You me to ay ,
- You forget me to mor row .
Time to ch ase you across t he road , Lo ein n d e a p g rabbit, a pok you , to d, e Upset you , beetl with your load ;
e Hey, littl friends,
- d Good ay .
n B are, brown feet in the shelvi g pool, e n d Unbound body, relax d a cool, Limbs lying bare an d beautiful;
r Hey, g een pool,
- d - Good ay , go od morrow,
- You hold me to day ,
- You forget me to morrow .
d Time to float in you, rapt an cool,
Swim t he r apids above you , pool, Dive in your waters bountiful;
ee Hey , sw t friend,
- Good day . OF MAGAZINE VERSE
e n d I sit at hom a sew,
I ply my needle an d thread, ’ But the trip around t he garment s hem
Is not the p ath I tread . Margaret F ren ch P atton
Cradle S ong
E ORD GABRI L, wilt thou not ’ When at last a little boy s e e s r Cheek li s h avy a a ose, And his eyelids close ?
e Gabriel, wh n th at hush may be, ‘ This sweet h and all heedfully ’ f ee I ll undo, o r th alone, ’ er From his moth s own .
Then the far blue highways paven With the burning stars of heaven He sh all gladden with the sweet H asting of his feet
' re Fcat so brightly ba an d coo l, m Leaping, as fro pool to pool; From a little l aughing boy Splashing rainbow joy !
Gabriel, wilt thou understand How to keep his hovering h and ? s Never shut, a in a bond From t he br ight beyond ? 6s THE GOLDEN TREASURY
n d Nay, but though it cling a close
Ti htly as a climbing rose, g — Clasp it only so , aright, ’
Lest his . heart take fright .
!Dormi, dormi, tu
The dus k is hun g with blue. )
Lo rd Michael, wilt n ot thou rejoice ’ When at last a little boy s
- Heart, a shut in murmuring bee, T urns him unto thee ?
Wilt thou heed thine armor well, T o take his h and from Gabriel So his radiant cup of dream May not spill a gleam ?
H r e will take thy heart in th all, ’ Telling o er thy breastplate, all
Co lors, in his bubbling speech ,
With his h and to each .
r !Dormi, do mi tu. S apphire is the blue:
r r r Pea l and be yl, they a e called, h r C rys op as e an d emer ald, ar S d and amethys t. N r d umbe e s o, and kiss ed. )
THE GOLDEN TREASURY
The Bacchante to her Babe
E d ! , sprite, an d ance The sun is up, The wind runs laughing down the sky e Th at brims with morning lik a cup . e Sprite, we must rac him, We must ch ase him You an d I ! And skim across the fuzzy heather You an d joy an d I together Whirling by !
You merry little roll of fat !
s s d t M ade warm to ki , an smooth to pa ,
And round to toy with , like a cub ; ’ To put one s nozz le in an d rub
An d breathe you in like breath of kine, e Like juice of vin ,
- Th at sets my morning heart a tingling,
Dancing, jingling, All t he glad abandon mingling Of wind an d wine !
re e n d re Sprite, you a lov , a you a joy,
e re A h appin ss, a d am , a toy,
A god to laugh with ,
Love to ch aff with ,
T he s un come down in tangled gold,
T s n d r he moon to kis , a sp ing to hold . 68 OF MAGAZ INE VERSE
o There was a time once, long ag ,
Long oh, long s ince I scarcely know. Almost I h ad forgot e There was a time when you wer not,
e s r You merry sprite, sav a a st ain, T he str an ge dull pain Of green buds swelling
In warm , s traight dwelling
Th at must burst to t he April rain . A little heavy I w as then
An d dull an d gl ad to rest . And when T he tr avail came In searing fl ame
But, sprite, th at was so long ago ! A — century ! I scarcely know . Almost I had forgot ere When you w not .
e So, little sprit , come d ance with me ! T e h sun is up , the wind is free ! e n o n d Com w a trip it , n Romp a d skip it,
ar n E th is young a d so are we .
Sprite, you an d I will d ance together
On t he heather ,
Glad with all t he procre ant earth , l With a l t he fr uitage of t he trees , e And golden pollen on t he breez ,
With pl ants th at bring t he grain to birth,
e s n d With b a t a bird , ea e n F th red a d furred ,
With youth an d hope an d life an d love, 69 T HE GOLDEN T REASURY And joy thereof e w l w Whil e are part of al , e two Fo r my glad burgeo ning in you !
e r fa So , m rry little oll of t , M ade warm to kiss an d smooth to pat
And round to toy with , like a cub , ’ n d T o put one s nozz le in a rub ,
My god to laugh with ,
Love to ch aff with ,
n d e Come a d anc beneath t he sky, You an d I !
Look out with those round wondering eyes , n d An d squirm , a gurgle an d grow wise ! P oetry : A Magazin e of Verse Eun ice Tietjen s
! S outher n Ohio Mar ket Town )
EA n r - e H RD a old fa m wif ,
S s e elling om barley, Mingle her life with life “ An d t he n ame Charley .
’ : T e ll Saying h crop s a in, ’ We re about th rough now; L ong nights will soon begin, ’ e re s W ju t us two now. OF MAGAZINE VERSE
Twelve bushel at sixty cents , ’ It s all I carried
' He sickened m aking fence ; He was to be m ar ried
It feels like frost was near
His h air w as curly .
T he w s a e sprin g a l te th at y ar, ” But the h arvest e arly . New Republic Torre n ce
t a k la k a t an d o k W i h C ssoc B c , B re B o
e n ITH cassock black , bar t a d book, Father Saran goes by ; I think he goes to say a prayer
For one who has to die .
E d e ven so, some ay , Fath r S aran May s ay a prayer fo r me ;
Myself meanwhile, the Sister tells ,
Should pray unceasin gly .
They kneel who pray : how may I kneel ie Who face to ceiling l , Shut out by all th at man h as m ade From God who made the sky ?
They lift who p ray t he low earth- born A humble heart to God
But O, my heart of clay is proud
True sister to the sod . THE GOLDEN TREASURY
I look into the face of God , They say bends over me; r I sea ch the d ar k, d ark face of God O wh at is it I see ?
e li I s e who e fast bound , who may e Not kn el , who can but seek
I see mine o wn face over me, e With t ars upon its cheek . Atlan tic Mon thly Grace F allow Norton
AN AST RONOMER
N a lone hillside A Nav ajo s hepherd
Wrapt in his blan ket,
Hugged his knees, Dreamed into t he night re A wisp of a c scent, A sky full of stars In his thought He w as asking “ Do my lanterns Shine up to the stars ?
A VAS E OF CHIN ES E IVORY
In t he museum It had no name OF MAGAZINE VERSE
It was only the life work Of one almond- eyed heathen Just o n e of a million ! Look closer An d you will see
A soul,
Unique an d beautiful .
MES SAGES
He plodded along
- The dee p rutted road ,
e T he old f arm r,
Face as red as sum ach, Wind- colored ;
Happy .
The bee- d rone hum Of wires overhead
n er W as song a d l aught to him , Yet the wires were laden e n d rr With messages of strif , a so ow,
T HE HEIGHT S
Alone, ra On a high mountain t il, I d rew strength from the sky ; My thoughts went out Like my sh adow at sunset e I grew great as my sh adow at suns t . 73 T HE GOLDEN TREASURY
S OLIT UD E Youth If there be m adness
In you r soul, Go to the mountain solitudes Where you can grow up
T o your m adness . ’ Little Review David O Neil
Cin quain s
T RIAD
HESE be Th ree silent T he fa lling s now Before t he d awn
Just d ead .
MOON- S HADOW S
Still as On windles s nights
e - as s T h moon c t h adows are, So still will be my hear t when I
Am dead .
74
THE GOLDEN TREASURY
’ The Regents Examination
UFFLED sounds of the city climbing to me at the
window,
- r Here in the summer noon tide students busily w iting,
- re but Child ren of qu aint clad immigrants, f sh from the
n a d the Ghetto,
Writing of pious [Eneas an d funeral rites of Anchises .
- n n r Old World credo a d custom , alien accents a d featu es,
- Plunged in t he free school hopper, grist fo r t he Anglo S axons
- n e r e Old World sweetn ess an d light, a d fi ry st uggl of
heroes,
Flashed on the blinking peas ants , dull with t he grime of their bond age ! e e e n d R ace th at are infant 1n knowledg , anci nt in gri f a traditions Lo re th at 18 tranquil with ag e an d starry with gleams of the future Wh at 1s t he thing th at will come from the might of the elements blending ? Neuter an d s afe s h all it be ? Or a flame to bu rst us asunder ? ’ S cr ibn er s Magazin e j es s ie W allace Hughan
Train- Mates
UT SIDE hove Sh asta, s nowy height on
s A glory ; but a negligible ight, Fo r you h ad often seen a mountain- peak
But not my paper . So we came to speak . 76 OF MAGAZ INE VERSE
e A smoke, a smil , a goo d way to commen ce The comfortable exch ange of difference ! e ee fi e e You a young ngin r, v f et eleven ,
- fiv e Forry e ch st, with foo tball in your heaven,
- Liking a road bed newly built an d clean , You r fingers hot to cut away the green Of brus h an d flowers th at bring beside a track
T he kind of beauty steel lines ought t o lack, d e An I a po t, wistful of my betters, ’ e - Reading G orge Meredith s high hearted letters, Joining between w hile in t he mingled speech
er r - n d r Of a d rumm , ci cus ma , an p a son , each Absor bing to himself as I to me And you to you a gl ad identity !
e After a time, when the others w nt away,
A curious kinship m ade us choose to stay, Which I could tell you now; but at t he time n d You thought of b aseball teams a I of r hyme, Until we found th at we were college men An d smoked more easily an d smiled again ;
And I from Cambridge cried , t he poet still “ I kn ow your fin e Greek Theatre on t he hill ” At Berkeley ! With your h appy Grecian head “ ”
w e . Upraised , I never s a t he plac , you said “ e On ce I was free of class, I always w nt ” Out to t he field . e Young engineer, y ou m ant As fair a tribu te to the better part he e As ever I did . Beauty of t h art
re Is evident in temples . But it b athes
Alive where athletes quicken curly wreaths, THE GOLDEN TREASURY
e e ie Which are the l ov li r becaus e they d . e You ar a poet quite as much as I , e Though differences app ar in wh at we do, An d I am athlete quite as much as you . Because yo u h alf- surmised my qu art er- mile
An d ree I your quatrain , we could g t an d smile . Who knows but we sh all look again an d find
T he - d r e circus man an d umm r, not be hind
But leading in our visible estate, As discus-thrower an d as laureate ? W itter Byn n er
Thanksgivin g for our Task
HE sickle is dulled of t he reaping an d t he threshing floo r is bare; ’ T he dust of night s in t he air . T he peace of t he weary is ours All day we h ave taken t he fruit an d t he grain an d t he e h s eds of t e flowers .
’ T e e in h v n g is chill,
It is good now to gather in peace by t he flames of t he fire . W e h ave done now t he deed th at we did fo r o ur need an d des ire :
We h ave wrought our will .
fo r e ea And now the boon of abund ance an d gold n incr se, e And immur d peace, Sh all we th ank our Go dif e B think us, amid His indulgence, His terrible rod ?
THE GOLDEN TREASURY “ [ YL 1 And before the last Autumn we will Build a temple from ocean to ocean where deeds never still
Melodiously sh all pro claim T hanksgiving for ever th at Thou h ast set here to o ur h and
o T e a S wondrous a mystical h arv est, th at hou dost d m nd e Sheaves bound in T hy n am ,
Ye a, supersubstantial sheaves of s trong souls th at have grown Fain to be known As the corn of T hine occident field 0 e l c n Yield r of Al , a Amer ica worthily thank Thee till such be her yield ?
In t he mellowing light Of the goldenest d ays th at precede the gr ay d ays of t he e y ar , We sing T hee our h arv esting song an d we pr ay T hee to
hear, In the midst of T hy might
Labor is given to us, Let us give th anks ! e Power work th through us, Let us give t h anks ! No t fo r wh at we h ave
e s e ! So might sp ak a l av ) ,
o e e No t f r th garn r ing,
we s Gr atefully ing, But fo r the mighty thing
W e must do, travailing ! OF MAGAZINE VERSE
For our task an d fo r our strength ; For the journey an d its length; For o ur d auntless eagerness; For our humbling wear iness ; e For thes , for these, 0 Father, Let us give th anks !
For these, 0 Mighty Father, Take T hou our thanks ! The F orum S haemas O S heel
S chool
LD Hezekia h leaned h ard on his ho e
An e E e . d squint d long at b n , his lank son e e D The sil nce shrilled with crick ts . ay was done,
And , row on dusky row, T all bean poles ribbed with d ark the gold- bright after
glow . E : Eb n stood star ing ever, one by one, r 0 e e The tend il t ps turned a sh n as they fl ar d .
Still Eben stared .
e e Oh, ther is wond r on New Hampshire hills,
Hoeing the warm bright furrows of brown earth, ’ e And th re is grandeur in t he stone wall s bir th, And in t he sweat th at spills From r ugged toil its sweetness ; y et for w1ld young wills e d Ther is no ew of wonder, but stark dearth,
In one old man who hoes his long bean rows,
An d only hoes . THE GOLDEN TREASURY
Old Hez ekia h turned slow on his heel . He T l t he ar touched his so n . hrough al c king T here are so m any littlis h cares to weig h
n d s ee Large n atures down , a t l “ The hear t of under standin g . Son , how feel ? ’ Wh at are y e starin on a g al? A ray Flushed Eben from t he fading a fterglow :
' He dropped his ho e .
e He d ropped his ho , but sudden stooped again
r And aised it where it fell . Nothing he spoke,
r e But bent his knee an d c ack the h andle brok ,
erin . e Splint g With gl ar of p ain , n d He flung t he p 1eces down , a stamped upon them ; then Like o n e who leaps out n aked from his -cloak “ Ran . Here, come back ! Where are ye bound you fool ? ” He cried To school !
Now on the mounta in Morning l aughed with light
n d al e With light a l t h future in her fa ce, For there s he looked on m any a far-o ff- place
An d a e wild dv nturous sight, Fo r which t he mad young autumn wind h allooed with might
n d e r ar - A d ar d the o ing mill brook to the r ace, Where blue- jay s screamed beyo nd t he pine- d ar k pool To school ! To school !
82
THE GOLDEN TREASURY
An d all that ag e an d a fter- knowledge augurate Lies in a little dream of youth enshrined T hat d ream to nour ish with the skilful rule
Of love is school .
Eben , in mystic tumult of his teens ,
r e e Stood bu sting lik a ripe s ed into soul . All his life long he h ad watched t he great hills roll
T e r s a s n d ee s h i h dow , tints a sh n
an d - r e e e By sun moon is ; y t t h bane of hoeing beans, ’ An d e a e s round of joyl ss chores, his f th r toll, Blotted their beau ty; n ature was as not : He h t ad never though .
’ But now he climbed his boyhood s castle tower
An d e : h e o r his a e - a knock d A , w ll then f ft r f te ’ e e T h at one of n ature s masters op n d the gate, Where like an April shower Live influence quickened all his earth- blind
e pow r.
Strangely his sense of truth grew passion ate,
An d like a young bull, led in yoke to d rink,
He bowed to think .
There also bowed their heads with him to qu aff T he snorting herd ! And many a wholesome grip n d e He h ad of rivalry a f llowship . w Often the game as rough, But Eben tossed his horns an d never called it off; Fo r still through play an d task his Dream would slip e A radiant Her d sm an, guiding d stiny
o T his degree . 84 OF MAGAZINE VERSE
Once more old Hezekiah stayed his hoe
e a To squint at Eben . Sil nt, Eben sc nned r A little oll of sheeps kin in his hand ,
e o s Whil , r w on du ky row, Tall bean poles r ibbed with d ar k t he gold- bright
glow . The boy looked up : Here was another land ! Mountain an d farm with mystic beauty fl ared
Where Eben stared .
e e e s Stooping, h lift d with a fur tiv mile
s n d s e e . N re Two splintered ticks, a plic d th m ever mo His spirit would go beas twise to his chore e o Blind d , f r even while ’ He s e o t e s e e e toop d t h old ta k , sudd n in the suns t s pil
a e s His r diant H r d m an swung a fiery door , Through which came forth with far- borne trumpetings n d Poets a kings,
e e : e His f llow conqu rors there Virgil dre am d ,
e e s a s e Th r Cae r fought an d won t he bar b arou tr ib s,
T re D r e s e re r e he a win , p n iv , bo the igno ant gib s, An d On e with thorns red eemed From m alice t he wild hearts of men : there flared gleamed
With chemic fire t he forges of old scribes, Testing anew t he crucibles of toil ’ T o save God s soil .
So Eben tu rned again to ho e his beans,
r But now, to balla ds which his He dsman sung, THE GOLDEN TREASURY
Henceforth he hoed the dream in with the dung, And fo r his ancient spleens
a n ew i a Pl nting joys, m agin tion found him means . At last old Heze kiah loosed his tongue “ Well, boy, this school wh at h as it learned ye to know ? ”
He s aid : To hoe . The F orum P ercy MacKaye
50 Yan kee Doodle
[T his poe m is in ten ded as a desc riptio n o f a so rt o f Blashfield u l in n o n t h s k T o b s un to t h un e o f Y n k m ra pa ti g e y . e g e t a ee ” dl t in s w o o r un d fash o n It is res u bl Do o e e a o er m re o . ma , y l , t i p y ’ ’ an exercise fo r an en tertain men t o n the ev en in g o f W ashin gto n s B r hd i t ay . !
AW N this morning burned all red
Watching them in wonder . There I s aw our sp angled flag
Divide t he clouds as under .
e e re e a T h n th follow d W shington .
e r Ah , h rod e from glo y, Cold an d mighty as his n ame ’ er s ree And st n a F dom s story . Unsubdued by burning d awn
Led his continentals . n d Va st they were, a str ange to see In gray old regimental s
w ee M arching s till ith bl ding feet, Bleeding feet an d j es ting M arching from t he judgment throne
With energy un res ting .
THE GOLDEN TREASURY
In beauty overarching . W - ar god banners lead us still,
Rob, enslave an d h arry Let us rather choose to- day The flag the angels carry e Flag we lov , but brighter far Soul of it m ade s plendid Let its d ays of stain an d shame
An d a e s e e he vin s be nd d . fifes ll Let its fill a t he sky,
Redeemed souls m archin g after, an d Hills mountains sh ake with song, While seas roll on in l aughter Metropolitan Magazin e
Cassan dra V HEARD o n e who said : erily, Wh at word h ave I fo r children here ?
Your Dollar is your only Word,
The wrath of it your only fear.
You built it altars tall enough
e see re To m ak you , but you a blind ; You cannot leave it long enough
To look before you or behind .
e When Reason b ckons you to pause, You laugh an d s ay th at you know best; e But what it is you know, you ke p
As d ar k as ingots in a chest . OF MAGAZINE VERSE
‘ u n r r You l a gh a d answe , We a e young ; ’ 0 leave us now, an d let us grow . Not asking how much more of this
Will T ime endu re or Fate bestow .
Because a few complacent years e H ave made your p ril of you r pride, Think you th at you are to go on Forever pampered an d untried ?
e Wh at lost eclips of history,
Wh at bivou ac of the m arching stars, Has given t he sign fo r you to s ee Millenniums an d last great wars ?
What unr ecor ded overthrow l e Of a l the world h as ev r kno wn,
e s e e Or ev r been , h a m ad its lf
So plain to you , an d you alone ?
D d Your Dollar , ove, an E agle m ake A Trinity that even you Rate higher th an you rate you rselves; ’
r n d n ew . It p ays, it fl atte s, a it s
And though your very flesh an d blood
E e n d Be wh at your agle ats a d r inks, ’ You ll prais e him fo r t he bes t of birds,
Not knowing wh at t he E agle thinks .
e The power is yours, but not th sight ; You see not upon wh at you tread ; Yo u h ave the ages fo r your guide,
But not t he wisdom to be led. THE GOLDEN TREASURY
Think you to tread forever down
‘ T he merciless old verities ? And are you never to h ave eyes To see t he world fo r what it is ?
Are you to pay fo r wh at you h ave ” With all you are ? No other wor d r W e caught, but with a laughing c owd f e n d ew e . Move d on . None heed d , a h ard B os ton Tra n s cript Edwin Arlin gton Robin s on
The Bonfire
’ he an d r H , let s go up t hill scare ou selves ,
s es s t h e es e - A reckl s a b t of th m to night, By setting fire to all t he br us h we piled
With pitchy h ands to wait fo r r ain o r snow . ’
e fo r a e s a e . Oh , l t s not wait rain to m k it f T h e pile is ou rs : w e d ragged it bough on bough D w e o n d ar k converging p aths be tween t h pines . ’ - Let s not care wh at we do with it to night . Divide it ? No ! But burn it as o n e pile ’ w e be t h e a T he w ay e piled it . And l t s t lk Of people brought to windows by a light
s e a - T h rown from somewh ere again t th ir w ll p aper.
e e l ee n d Rous th m a l, both t h e fr a not so free ’ With saying wh a t they d like to do to us ’ Fo r t e e er e what h y d b tt wait till w have done . 90
THE GOLDEN TREASURY
Your tongue gives salt or sugar in your h and .
r e The place it each d to blackened instantly .
w r w d - The black as all the e as by ay light , Th at an d the merest curl of cigarette smoke
An d e er e e a flame sl nd as t h h paticas,
- r n d o Blood 0 0 t , a violets s soon to be now .
e s e But t h black pread lik black d eath on t he ground, An d I think t he sky d ar kened with a cloud L e e n d e e ik wint r a v ning coming on together .
T r e e he e w r e nough things to be thought of then . Where t he field s tretches toward the north An d s un setting to Hyla brook, I gave it
T o a e w ere e fl m s without t ice thinking, wh it v rges
t he r fl es ea Upon oad , to am too, though in f r
e e e Th y might find fuel ther , in with red brake,
s s e - d Gras it s full length, old ilv r golden ro ,
d e e e And alder an grape vin ntanglem nt,
o r T o leap t he dus ty deadline . F my own
I took wh at front there w as bes id e . I knelt
An d thrust h ands in an d held my face away .
Fight s uch a fire by r ubbing not by beating .
A board is t he bes t weapon if you h ave it . h d e e I a my coat . And oh , I kn w, I kn w, ’ s a n t e t he s And id out loud , I could bid mother And heat so close in ; but t he thought of all h fi n d l T e woods an d town on re by me, a a l
T h e fo r me e town tu rned out to fight th at h ld me .
e I trus t d t he brook b arr ier , but feared T he road would fail ; an d on th at s ide t he fire Died n o t without a no ise of cr ackling wood Of something more th an tinder gras s o r weed T h at brought me to my feet to hold it back 9 2 OF MAGAZ INE VERSE
By leaning back myself, as if the reins
Were round my neck an d I was at the plough . ’ I won ! But I m sure no o n e ever spread Another color over a tenth the sp ace Th at I s pread coal black over in the time n It took me . Neighbor s coming home from tow ’ Could n t be lieve t h at so much black h ad come there ’ e e ad e h ad n t ee e e Whil th y h backs tur n d , th at it b n th r When they h ad passed an hour or so befor e Going t he Other way an d they not seen it
T hey looked about fo r someone to h ave done it .
But there was no one . I was somewhere wondering Where all my weariness h ad gone an d why I walked s o light on a ir in heavy s hoes
In S pite of a scorched Fourth of July fe eling . ’ Why should n t I be scared remembering th at ?
If it scares you, what will it do to us ?
a e . Sc r you But if you shr ink from being scared , Wh at would you s ay to war if it s hould come ? ’ Th at s what for reasons I should like to know ” c n r n If you a comfo t me by a y answer .
’ ’ a fo r re i s Oh , but w r s not child n t for men .
Now are a w we digging lmost do n to Chin a .
ar ear My de s, my d s, you thought th at we all thought it . ’ So r a s . you mist ke wa ours H ave n t you heard , though , Abo ut the ships where war h as found them out At se a, about t he towns where war h as come THE GOLDEN TREASURY
Through opening clouds at night with d roning speed ’ o e e d Further rh a than all but stars an d angels, And children in the ships an d in t he towns ? ’ H ave n t you heard wh at we h ave lived to learn ? Nothing so n ew something we had forgott en :
W ar s r r r r i fo eve y on e, fo child en too . ’ ’ w s d I a n t going to tell you , an I must n t . T he best way is t o come up hill with me
e o ur re n n d And h av fi a d laugh a be afr aid .
The S even Arts Robert F ros t
Harvest- Moon: 1914
VER th e twilight field ,
T he overflowing field ,
Ov er t he glimme ring field , And bleeding fu rrows with their sodden yield e Of sheaves th a t still did writh , After t he s cythe ; T he teeming field an d d ar kly overstrewn With all t he garner ed fulness of th at noon
T wo looked upon each other . On e was a Wom an men h ad called their mother;
- e . An d one, the H arv st Moon
n r - o And o e, the Ha vest Mo n ,
Who stood , who gaz ed On those unquiet gleanings where Till the lone Wom an said : 9}
THE GOLDEN TREASURY
The Chinese Nightingale
A S on g in Chin es e Tapes tr ies
Ded t ica d o . e t S . T . F
he a . F d OW, how, s id rien Ch ang, I “ San Francis co s lee ps as the dead e e s n Ended lic ns , lu t a d play Why do you iron t he night away ?
r ea You big clock sp ks with a deadly sound , a n d With tick a a wail till d awn comes round .
e s While the monst r h adows glower an d creep, ” Wh at can be better fo r man th an sleep ?
e I will t ll you a secret, Ch ang replied ;
rea is s My b st with vision atis fied ,
An d see ree ees n I g n tr a d fluttering wings ,
es s r And my deathl bird f om Sh angh ai s ings .
- r Then he lit fiv e fire c ackers in a pan . ” “ ! he fire- r e s - - ! Pop, pop said t c ack r , cra cra crack
H - n e lit a joss s tick long a d black . T hen t he proud gr ay jos s in the corne r s tirred ; On his wris t a ppe ared a gr ay s m all bird An d this w as t he song of the gray s m all bird
e i e re er Wher s t h princess , loved fo v , Who m ade Ch ang firs t of t he kings of men ?
An d the joss in t he corner s tirred again ;
An d t he ar e is ar s a e c v d dog, cu rled in h m , wok ,
B a r e - n k d forth a smoke cloud th at whirled a d broke . 96 OF MAGAZ INE VERSE
- It piled in a maze round the ironing pl ace, An d there on the snowy table wide ree Stood a Chinese lady of high deg ,
t e a- r se a With a scornful , Witching, o f ce an d e Yet s he put away all form prid , An d l aid her glimmering veil aside n With a childlike smile fo r Ch ang a d for me .
w s aflo wer T he walls fell back, night a , er T he table gleamed in a moo nlit bow ,
e a e ar e While Chang, with a count n nc c v d of stone,
I roned an d ironed, all alone . And thus s he s ang to the busy man Chang “ Have you forgotten
o Dee p in the ages , long, long ag ,
r he s I was your sweetheart, the e on t and Storm- worn beach of the Chines e land ? W e sold our grain in the pe acock town Built on the edge of the s ea- s and s brown Built on the edge of the sea- s ands brown
When all t he world was dr inking blood
n n d s From the skulls of me a bull ,
l d s r s an d An d a l the world ha wo d clubs of stone,
a - W e d rank our t ea in Chin , beneath the sacred spice trees,
And heard the curled waves of t he h ar bor moan . ’ And this gray bird , in Love s fi rs t s pring,
s n - With a bright bronze brea t a d a bronz e brown wing,
r his r Captu red the wo ld with ca olling . D re e e o you member, ag s aft r, At last the world we were born to own ? Yo u were e r . the heir of the y llow th one THE GOLDEN TREASURY
The world was the field of the Chinese man
And we were the pride of the sons of Han . n We copied d ee p books, a d we carved in j ade, t e And wove white silks in h mulberry shade .
“ e e I rememb r, I rem mber
Th at Spring came on forever,
re Th at Spring came on fo ver .
S aid t he Chin ese nightingale .
My heart was filled with m arvel an d dream
- e Though I saw the western street lamps gl am,
s er d Though d awn was br inging t he we t n ay ,
r Though Ch ang w as a laund ym an , ironing away n d Mingled there, with t he streets a alleys,
- n e - The railroad yard , a d t h clock tower bright, Demon- clouds cr os sed ancient valleys ; Across wide lotos- ponds of light ’ ’ I m arked a giants firefly s flight .
- e An d t he lady, rosy r d, f n e f n Opened her a , closed h r a ,
Stretched her h and toward Ch ang, an d
Do you remember,
e Ages aft r, Our p alace of heart- red stone ? Do you remember T he little doll- faced child ren
- With their lanterns full of moon fire, Th at came from all the empire Honoring the th rone ? T he lovelies t fé t e an d carnival Our wor ld h ad ever known ? 98
THE GOLDEN TREASURY
k through a hundred , hundred years
ear the waves as they climb the piers,
Hear the how! of the silver seas, Hear the thunder ! Hear the gongs of holy China How the waves an d tunes combin e
er In a rhythmic clashing wond , Incantation old an d fin e ‘ s Dragons, dragons, Chine e d ragons ;
- s n d - Red fire cracker , a green fire crackers,
s r e And dragon , d agons, Chines
- Then the lady, rosy red , Turned to her lover Chang an d said D are you forget that tu rquoise d awn
o s - e When we stood on ur mi t hung v lvet lawn , An d worked a spell this great joss taught Till a God of t he Dragons w as ch armed an d caught ? From the flag high over o ur p alace- h ome He flew to o ur feet in rainbow- foam A king of beauty an d tempes t an d thunder o ur rr as er Panting to tear so ows und , W e mounted t he back of th at royal sl ave e b With thoughts of desire th at w re no le an d grave .
We swam down t he shore to the d ragon- mountains
W e whirled to t he peaks an d t he fiery fountains .
T o o ur secret ivory hou se we were borne . W e lo oked down t he wond erful wing- filled regions
Where the d ragons d arted in glimmering legions . Rig ht by my breast the nightingale s ang;
I OO . or MAGAZINE VERSE
' ' T he old rhymes rang in the sunlit mist That we this hour regain
- Song fire fo r t he brain . e When my h and s an d my h air an d my feet you kiss d , ’ i When you cried fo r you r heart s new p a n ,
- Wh at was my n ame in t he d ragon mist, ” In the rin gs of the rain bowed rain ?
n Sorrow an d love, glory a d love,
S aid t he Chines e nightingale . e r n d Sorrow an d lov , glo y a love,
S aid the Chinese nightingale .
And n ow t he jos s broke in with his son g “ Dying ember, bird of Ch ang,
Soul of Ch ang, do you remember ? Ere you retu rned to the s hining harbor There were pirates by ten thou s and Descended on t he town
e a - n n In vess ls mount in high a d red a d brown ,
- Mo on s hips th at climbed t he s torms an d cut t he skies .
On their prows were p ainted terrible bright eyes . But I w as then a wiz ar d an d a s cholar an d a priest ; I sto od upon t he s and ; With lifted h and I looked upon them
s e r es se s s And unk th i v l with my wiz ard eye ,
e - An d the stat ly lacquer gate m ade s afe again .
ee ee e b t e se - ee an d ra D p , d p b low the ay , h a w d the sp y,
Emb almed in amber every pir ate lies ,
Embalmed in amber every pir ate lies . Then this did the noble lady s ay : ‘ fI IfIE-GOLDEN TREASURY
i ' ’ ’ - d Bird, do yo is dré am o f our home coming ay When you flew like a courier on before
- - From the dragon peak to our palace door, An d we d rove t he steed in your singing p ath The ramping dragon of laughter an d wrath ; l An d found o ur city al aglow, An d knighted this joss th at decke d it so ? There were go lden fishes in the purple river
And silver fishes an d r ainbow fis hes .
There were golden jun ks in the laughing river, An d silver junks an d rainbow junks r r There were golden lilies by t he bay an d ive ,
d - e - e An silver lilies an d tig r lili s,
‘ An d tin kling wind - bells in the gardens of the town By t he black lacquer- gate Where walked in state T he kind king Ch ang An d his sweetheart m ate With his flag - born dragon An d his crown of pearl an d j ade;
And his nightingale reigning in the mulberry s hade,
- An d sailors an d soldiers on t he sea s ands brown , And priests who bowed them down to your song w By the city called Han , t he peacock to n , n a e By the city called Ha , t he nighting l town , ” The nightingale town . e T hen sang t h bird , so strangely g ay , e Fluttering, flutt ring, ghostly an d gray,
e e A v ague, unrav lling, answering tun , Like a lon g unwinding silk cocoo n ; S ang as though fo r the soul of him Who ironed away in that bower dim
1 0 2
oT HE GOLDEN TREASURY
Spring came o n forever, a S id the Chinese nightingale . P oetry : A Maga zin e of Vers e Vachel Linds ay
He whom a Dream hath Possessed
E whom a dream h ath possessed knoweth no mor e
of doubting , Fo r a mis t an d the blowing of winds an d the mouthing of words he scorns;
s No t t he sinuous speech of chools he hears, but a knightly
s houting,
d e r e s An n ver comes d a kn s down , yet he greeteth a mil
lion morns .
He whom a dream h ath possessed knoweth no more of roaming; All roads an d t he flowing of waves an d the speediest flight
he knows,
e e ee s et his e But wher v r his f t are , soul is for ver homing,
n he e an d c he a e a an d A d going, com s, oming he r th a c ll
goes .
He whom a dream h ath pos s es sed knoweth no more of
sorrow, At death an d t he d ropping of leaves an d t he fading of
s uns he smiles, Fo r a dream remembers no past an d scorns t he desire of
a morrow, And a d ream in a sea of doom sets surely the ultimate
isles . OF MAGAZINE VERSE
He whom a dream hath possessed treads the impalpable
m arches, ’ From the du s t of the d ay s long road he leaps to a laugh
ing star, And the r uin of worlds th at fall he views from etern al
es ar ch , ’ n d e c And rid es God s battlefield in a flashing a gold n ar .
The F or um S haemas O S heel
The K ing of Dreams
OME mus t delve when t he d awn is nigh ; Some mu s t moil when the noond ay beams ;
s n d But when t he night come , a soft winds sigh, Every man is a King of Dreams !
On e mus t plod while another must ply
e s At plow o r loom till t h sun et s treams,
But when night comes , an d t he moon rides high, Every man is a King of Dreams !
’ is r r One s l ave to a m as te s c y ,
r Another se f to a despot s eems, n d But when night comes, a the discords die, Every man is a King of Dream s !
m e n This you ay s ll a d th at may buy,
An d e o this you may b art r f r gold th at gleams, ’ e n f But th re s o e domain th a t is fixed o r ay e, Every man is a King of Dreams ! ’ Lippin cott s Magazin e Clin ton S colla rd 1 0 5 THE GOLDEN TREASURY
Flammon de
E H man Flammon de, from God kn ows d i With firm address an foreign a r, With news of n ations in his talk
And something royal in his walk,
With glint of iron in his eyes, e But never doubt, n o r y et surpris , n d Appeared , an d stayed , a held his head
As one by kings accredited .
r E ect, with his alert repose
About him, an d about his clothes , He pictured all tradition hears
Of wh at we owe to fifty years . His cleansing heritage of taste Paraded neither want nor waste; And what he needed for his fee r To live, he borrowed g aciously .
He never told us wh at he was,
s o Or wh at mi ch ance, r other cause, Had banished him from better d ays
To play t he Prince of Castaways . Meanwhile he played sur passing well
A p art, for most, unplayable;
In fin e, one p auses, h alf afraid
To s ay for certa in th at he played .
m e For that, one ay as w ll forego Conviction as to y es or no; 10 6
THE GOLDEN TREASURY
There were two citizens who fought
For years an d years, an d over nought;
They m ade life awkward for their friends,
And shortened t heir own dividends . T he man Flammo n de said wh at was wro ng Should be m ade right; nor w as it long e Before th y were again in line, d And ha each other in to dine .
And these I mention are but four
Of m any out of m any more .
So much for them . But wh at of him So firm in every lo ok an d limb ? Wh at sm all satanic sort of kink W as in his brain ? What broken link Withheld him from the des tinies Th at came so near to be in g his ?
w e Wh at as he, when we cam to sift e e His m aning, an d to not the drift Of incommunicable ways Th at make us ponder while we praise ? Why was it th at his ch arm revealed Somehow the su rface of a shield ? Wh at was it th at we never caught ? n d s ? What was he, a wh at wa he not
How much it was of him we met We cannot ever know; nor yet Shall all he gave us quite atone
s n d e For wh at was hi , a his alon ;
10 8 OF MAGAZINE VERSE
w Nor need e now, since he kn ew best, Nourish an ethical unrest Rarely at once will n atu re give
e Fl n d n d The pow r to be ammo e a live .
W e cannot know how much we learn
r e e F om thos who n ver will return , Until a fl ash of unforeseen
e a s Rem mbr nce fall on what h as been . ’ We ve each a d arkening hill to climb; An d is m this why, from ti e to time T w In Tilbury own , e look beyond
r z s f r t he m n Fl m n d Ho i on o a a mb e . The Outlook Edwin Arlin gton Robin s on
S andy S tar
S CULPT URED W ORS HIP
s HE zone of warmth around his heart, No alien airs h ad crossed ; But he awoke on e morn to feel
a e s a The m gic numbn s of utumn al frost .
o e His thoughts were a l ose skein of th r ads, n And tangled emotions , vague a d dim ; An d sacrificing wh at he loved
He lost t he dearest part of him . THE GOLDEN TREASURY
In sculptured worship now he lives , His one desire a prisoned ache; If he can never melt again
His very heart will break . Cris is
LAUGHIN G IT OUT
e He had a whim , an d laugh d it out Upon the exit of a ch ance ; He flo un dered in a sea of doubt w o If life as real r just romance .
Sometimes upon his brow would come A little pucker of defiance ; He totalled in a word t he sum
Of all man m ade of facts an d science .
d An d then a hearty l augh woul break, A reassuring shrug of shoulder ;
’ An d we would from his fan cy t ake
A faith in death which m ade life bolder .
Cr is is
EX IT
a No, his exit by the g te Will not leave the wind aj ar; He will go when it is l ate
With a misty star .
One will call , he cannot see ;
One will call, he will not hear ;
THE GOLDEN TREASURY
He went away to search it With a curse upo n his tongue
And in his h and the staff of life,
M ade music as it swung .
e h I wond r if e found it, And knows the mystery now S r Our andy Sta who went away,
With t he secret on his brow . Atlan tic Mon thly W illiam S tan ley B ra ithwaite
S aint J ohn of Nepomuc
AST summer I Co lumbused John , in Prague, th at deadly Bush League town ’ ’ fo r e I d quit em cold on pictures an d cathedrals awhil . ’ w s I hung around for Ma an d Sis !Good Lord, there a n t ’ o n e they d miss ’ Pale m artyrs till you could n t slee p, Madonnas by the mile !)
e r e I read some dope in B aedeker a bout a tablet on t h b idg , And how they slipped this poor old scout the double cross f o r fair . ’ - s I m off high brow hi tor ic truck, but Father John of N epo muc, e w You must admit he was the goods . Believe m , he as
there!
s - The king w as Wenzel Number Four . John wa sky pilot o r f the court . I I 2 OF MAGAZ INE VERSE
hunch that Mrs . Kin g has something on her
e an a d sl uthing more d more . He s ys, Ga ’ ” I 11 h ave their gore l ’ let em string you on that bunk that love is
’ The queen I ll bet she was some queen she t an go es
blithely on her way . ’ She fails to see t he storm clouds on her regal husband s
dome . ’ e I got him guessed , th at Wenz l guy h arpoo ns a girl that s
young an d spry, ’ And tries to seal her up for life 1n the Old People s Home !
The way I had it figured out she married him to please her folks
- - Our son in law, the Kink, you know ! ! Some speed ! ’ I guess th at s poor ?) ’ So, when she sights a M aiden s Dream some real live ’ i e e w re that s m ad the t am, n e re ! Well, she sits up a d notic s , like an y girl . Why, su
’ ’ e ze he e Old W n l can t quite cinch t cas , but wh at he does n t
know, he thinks . T e he a a r e e h lump c lls hea t cong als b neath his fancy vest . He sends for poo r old Father John an d says as follows “ I am on ! I merely lack a few details ! Wh at h ath t he queen con fessed ? ”
He holds the court upon the bridge . Speak up, he o says, r otherwise THE GOLDEN TREASURY
These spears shall thrust you down to death ! Co me t hrough ! I am the kin g! Kick in ! Wh at did my spouse confes s ? The queen
sends frantic S . O . S . ’ e e Maybe I sort of dozed, but w ll h re s how I go t this t hin g
w e r He s a t he st artled courtiers, straining th ir ea s ; w He s a t he white queen swaying, striving to stand ; w He s a the soldiers tensely gripping their spears, ’ Waiting t he king s comm and He heard a sm all p age d rawing a sobbing breath ; ’ r He hea d a bird s call, poign ant an d sweet an d low;
He ar r r he d the ush of the r ive , spelling death,
Mocking him , down below . “ But he only s aid , My liege, l To my honor you ay siege,
An d c n e that fortress you a nev r ove rthrow .
h ll He thought of how he ad led them , a the years ;
He thought of how he h ad served them, death birth ;
e e r e He thought of h aling th ir h ates, stilling thei f ars
Humbly, he weighed his worth .
He w s f t e a knew he a leaving the m , ar from h go l ;
He e ee a w s e an d . kn w, with d p joy, it a saf wise ’ He knew th at now the p ale queen s pitiful soul
n d r . Would awake, a a ise “ d e An h only said , My king, Every argument you br in g
e se M rely ts my duty forth in sterner guise . 1 14
THE GOLDEN TREASURY
S amson Allen
HERE was the dr um he played so poorly,
all a ra e Though his d ys he p y d for skill .
he a Never in life would be t it surely,
Even if the stars in heaven stood still .
There was t h e village band renewing a a e Alw ys his nci nt ache to play . ’ w h e It as t sum of his so ul s undoing,
An d e r e n ve he kn w would it wear away.
t he a Little vill ge found amusing,
o n With no more than e straggling street, So th at without so much as choo s ing
e s e It turn d to him a its j st complete.
Thus in a humor quite bucolic It clutched at him as its lawful prey; ’ Would it not add to the county s frolic If he should lead th e band th at day ?
e e Mindful he of t h v ain , balk d pl aying Could not t ake such a crown to wear; But he would were there no gains aying
Beat t he d rum fo r the county fair .
With the event well worth t he coming All the village w as there to l augh
r e m No m atter if t he clouds u g d ho ing, Should not rain write his epitaph ? OF MAGAZINE VERSE
e Her they come with piccoli shrilling,
He, head high , with the raised sticks dumb Now the silence th at will brea k thrilling he In the crash of t rolling d r um .
All the years of his patient failing
e Shroud d are by a blinding light,
Fo r e s none s e , since they all are qu ailing, Just how t he lightning made wrong r ight ! P oetry Review of Amer ica Don ald Evan s
Gayheart
A S tory of Defeat
A e AYHE RT came in Jun , I s aw his heels e Go through t he door, an d broken heels they w re .
er n d e n d He a His eyes w e big, a blu , a young . s id , “ ? ” Could you direct me to t he B as emen t, Sir
I knew the B asement ; I h ad gr ubbed there once Before a client tumbled in my n et
‘ e w s c flin - And brought m riches . It a o cold e An d on its bar walls seeped a moldy sweat .
’ n d h ad t he re T w as next t he kitchen , too, a b ath
n Of chea p things cooking but I led him dow . T he stairs d ropped n aked through t he cl ammy d ark
r . He paused , an d gasped , as men do when they d own 1 1 7 THE GOLDEN TREASURY
Is it down there ? I turned an d took his arm ’ !Thin as a boy s it was ; all skin an d bone) ; “ I said : The d ark is just a pleasant cloak
o . To veil you ff, an d keep your thoughts alone
A Boarding- House is all- inquisitive ; ’ ” “ a You re safer here . How did you know, he s id , Th at I would want to be alone ? Am I ” An open book to be so simply read ?
We stumbled down until I felt the door
Beneath my fingers . Then I struck a light T he roo m grinned at us like an ugly face
- Caught in a heart beat from the cloak of night .
’ s w T he boy s breath cracked his lips . I a his soul
s n d o an a Stand in his eye , a l ok, d shrink ag in, ’ Sick with the moment s sh attered visionings,
An d on his face went the slow feet of pain .
’
e e ? bad. It str ik s you bl ak, eh Come, it s not so ’ T he g as won t whimper if you turn it low . ’ r e ere es T he bed is lame, but f i ndly . H s a d k
: . To scribble at . He s aid I write, you know
“ ’ e e I v e come to b a writer . An d h smiled , ’ As boys do when they s ay their heart s desire ; “ ’ he I m from t South a paper too k me on , ’ ” But th at s just keeping fagots in my fire .
f He smiled again , o r he h ad all his youth “
. r h e a To smile from My eal wor k, s id , will be o T sketch t he city not in prosy books, e But in its n ativ , living poetry .
1 1 8
THE GOLDEN TREASURY
Poor Gayheart whitened slowly, t ill his face h W as like t e paper that he scribbled on .
But he h ad youth , an d some vague bravery e w Th at h ld him taut until his t ask as done .
r r e He asped o u n rves, though , with his res tles s ways,
e e e . He e er His r stl ss , sil nt ways n v seemed T o s ee us when we p as s ed him in t h e h all
His eyes were dis tant with t h e thing he dreamed .
s He bolted dinner like a dog, a though He feared his fate would sn atch him un aware
ll a e e r With a his dre ms unprov d th n , st a ting up,
Would grope t h e sh adowed h allway to th e stair,
An d down to his etern al folderol,
n s r e His s pitting gaslight a d his c atching p n ,
Until we cu rsed him for his industry,
His being different from t he ruck of men .
T hen o n e d ead night wh en all t he stars did sweat
s ee e an e n re He plucked my l v , d smil d , a d d w me down
. e His d amned black stairs Th n , while t he clogged jet
e whin d , ’ e He read me wh at he d writt n of t he T own .
h a t h e a e It struck me wond erful . It d ch
- n Of rush hou r t raflic in it, a d t he swing ’ he e e ree Of wheels , as though d list n d in a st t, e A crowded street wh re life ran thund ering .
It m ade me think of going to my work ; ’ s e e r Of men in crowd , an d wom n s fac s d awn
n n n With p ainted lines, a d shops a d ships a d spires
e s a e fo r e An d skyscrap r th at re ch d up t h d awn .
1 20 OF MAGAZINE VERSE
An d then beneath the step of rhyme I heard ’ The boy s soul speaking . And I knew Had spent himself like dust among the crowd
- To catch the heart beat for his poetry .
e His voice went out like fl am . I found myself
S e . e hock d by the still, sm all room To me it se med
Great th rongs h ad p assed with various noise . He said “ ’ ’ T hat s just the gateway to the thing I ve dreamed !
’ n e e There is a street s e d, wh r the coasters sleep,
A r e er n d there, at twilight, pu pl wat s run , ’ And o er their breast t he crimson- coated day
Trails the last silver of the fallen sun .
A wall is there, for men to dream upon ;
An a e l d so young G yhear t w nt, with a l his scars a n s w h e Unhe led a d a t lights sown through the dusk,
And his tall city in a cloak of stars .
e Tier upon tier t he gold n windows burned , As though men sought n ew freedom in the skies;
An d somehow, lured by starlight an d by d awn , Built his blind cities up t o paradise !
h e r e Afar t e bridges spun t h i silv r webs, The mellow whistles t alked along the stream ;
But Gayheart leaned athirst upon a stone, i Hurt w th the shining beauty of his dream . T HE GOLDEN TREASURY
w An d he as like a child with wistfulness,
Holding his hands out through the summer night,
e r r Where in th dusk the g eat, clean towers fl a ed , Like swords thrust up in some red battle- light !
An d e then he turned , all dumb with his d sire,
An le e d st umb d t hro ugh still streets, until he found The great bridge trembling underfoot an d heard
The trains g o by him with a tempest sound .
e Black, s h apel ss forms came sh rieking with bright eyes ;
- T he sea wind rolled like dr ums against his ears,
An d e w as h singing, singing as he trod,
An is e e . d in h yes were sudden, sm arting t ars
The tallest spire enraptured him ! He strode r ere e Under the oofed bridge, wh the n wsboys cry, An d out into th at little breathing- space
From whence t he windows go into the sky .
An d e n d ther he sought a bench a s at him down ,
ee Betw n two snoring vaga bonds, who lay S ra e e p wl d on th ir faces, but his wakefulness
W as like a lamp within him till the day .
W h at did it mean ? the stone flung like a song ? T he des k- light brothering the star ? The whole Up- sweep of roofs th at is our n ative- land
e What m aning h ad it, an d what secret soul ?
s t r e s He a with uptu n d eyes, a young men do, Until t he l amp upon his face grew wan ; He s aw his a e n tion toiling in its Hous , r Its tall, st ange House th at reached up for the d awn !
1 2 2
THE GOLDEN TREASURY
s a The lady boarder knew . I heard her y “ ” e A cruel thing : Yo ur book is hom , she said, ” s s For Sund ay dinner . But he p a ed her by
t e es Without h slight t turning of his head .
- e a e . An d a Sh h t d him so mid utumn fell,
With no a bating coolness . E ach new sun
m rderer le s W as like a u t out of lock ,
d r An life went sickly, p aying to be done .
‘ A e all ee w s night f ll when sl p a vain . I rose An d e stumbl d to the windowful of stars,
T a w s are ea h t a my sh of h ven . T here I stoo d ee Letting the soft night s p into my scars .
T he window opened on a little court, An d s udd enly a feeble thrus t of fl ame
e s er r Stabbed like a p tti h d agg th ough t he d ark, e a r a e e Out of t h night gg d br athing came .
s aw th e a ar I B sement bo der stooping down ,
His ea a e o e t t he l n f c blo di d wi h touch of light . e fire e his n A tongu of lick d h ands a d died,
r e s er a r B i f a the flutt of sta in flight .
e e ra e T h Som how I s nsed a t g dy . e glo om
W as e a ra e t he lik g v , light leaped up no more .
' I tu rned an d groped down th rough t he breathless house ; s w Until I a him crouching by his door .
ere s ar his He stood th , t ing at empty ha nd s ’ As though they d done his deares t d ream to d eath ; T he palms were soiled an d s meared with paper as h;
er was a e s Th e re k of whi ky on his breath . OF MAGAZINE VERSE
’ ” Wh at s this ? I s aid . He raised his head an d smiled
Wit h a deep d runkenness th at touch ed his soul . “ ’ ’ I ll tell you wh at it is ! I v e been a fool
The sort of fool th at m akes a dream his goal .
“ ’ I ve worked my heart out ; don e a decent thing And no one wants it ! No o n e wants to look
e he s r e Ben ath t u fac of this world of ours . ’ l ’ s v . It a l d amned artifice . I e burned my book
Even to me t he thing seemed tr agical ’ As though he d s et a tor ch to h alf himself. ” “ e ur e u s e Wh at ! I cri d , b n d yo r pl ndid poetry ? Laid you r self o ut like th at upon a s helf?
“ ’ Wh at will you do ? I ll do a s other men ;
Harnes s my talent as a mod ern s hould . ’ I ll do the obvious with all my ag e
T e e er e ! h ch ap , the count f it, t he understood
“ ’ I ve a new job this night; a fine, n ew job He s p at into t h e s h adows of t he pl ace Verse- m aking on a m agaz ine ! T he sor t
T e rs h at w a a painted s imper on its face .
“ ’
d . o s e I m rich an drunk I h ad to d r ink r cr am ,
And d rink goes deep with me ; g e t me to bed. ’ I v e s la ughter on my s oul an d vers e to ma ke . My editor wan ts s omet hing light h e s aid
’ e s Something th at s bris k an d funny ! Th ere h tood ,
s e e e e d re at me With tho raw, s uff ring y s an sta d ,
e s o e ! Until I n ear cried out . H w as whit
An d older older th an a man should be . T HE GOLDEN T REASURY
e a I swear whol ges crumbled in his face, Fo r h ad re d he d amed , an d reams are ancient things, Bearing a h arsher reckoning th an T ime
e e e a r h as r e u e r s . , Wh n onc d sp i c umbl d p th i wing
r e an d bed I got him st ipp d into at l ast,
T he r s e l d! He l ere s n d r poo , p nt a ay th till a sta k , e e es His smudg d hands clench d acros s his sh allow ch t,
An d moaned once as I cre pt out th rough t he d ark .
e Succ ss came to him swiftly ; m ade him d runk . He u e e s g lp d lif a a drunkard gulps his bowl, Forgetting all his splendid futile d reams n He was a altered person to his soul .
He fattened an d grew flushed ; he lea rned to sneer;
ers e r n e e His v s a lik swift, m align ant fl am , Smirching the thing they touched an d burning on f T o wipe t he pathway o r his striding fame .
He left the B asement then ; s oared up two flights
a n With br ggart wings, bought furnitur e a d p rints,
w ! n Nons ense, e called it a d to crown t he show
Decked out his trappings in a flowered chintz .
’
e s se . e e s But th at ph as p a d His tru s lf tide flowed back, W e s aw him d rowning in his own s tr ange d eeps ;
es es es e r is A crawling r tl sn s cr pt f om h eyes,
r s e e T he so t of r p nt thing th at never sleeps .
a A month or two he clung to his g y n est, e Beat his wings breathl ssly within a shell, e e all e M ad hims lf live with his fl aunt d things,
Grim as a tortured convict in a cell .
11 6
THE GOLDEN TREASURY
’ Its gapin g door still breathed the winter s chill, Its s ingle window level with the street
Flickered with fragments of t he p assing world , u e e u H mmed with a whisp r d dr dgery of feet .
And yet to him its ve ry b ar renn ess
W as like a savage penance . Standing there He br uised himself upon its ugliness
e e is Until t he sweat stood out b n ath h h air .
a e he s aid e me I sk d you down , . , to h lp think,
a e T o help remember . Once ag in t h sweat
an d s e Stood o ut on him , a I look d I knew d It w as his soul ha m ade his body wet .
e i He gr ipped me with th hunger of h s eyes, i w e h s a e s ar s e . H ar d as a knif gl nc a , h d a ste l ’ How did it go ? My book ? I ve thought an d thought ” Until my brain is like a going wheel .
e I stared at him in sudd n choking p ain . “ ” F r e e e Yo u Boy ! I said . o my lif H cri d , mus t ! ’ It s all behind a door in s ide you r mind ; ’ r s a e e ! It s there, if you will b u h sid t h dust
’ No w n d e My own mind s locked against me . a th n
mes re r t he . A line co b ack , a b a c umb a t most
mea all t he s My pl an , my ning oul within ” Peers with faded features of a ghos t .
T l u e . It was the own , I s aid , in a l its g is T he T own ! It w as t he crowds along t he s treet ;
es n d n d e n d e s Fac a s pires a s ta t ly s hips a d r am ,
es res n d s n d D i , a winning , a I think defeat .
1 28 OF MAGAZINE VERSE
e ea ! e d Defeat, he gasp d , def t And th n he droppe Down at his palsied desk an d bowed his h ead e r Upon his arms . I felt my fl sh g ow cold
s r As though that gesture meant a man t uck dead .
s Oh , he said , from the prison of hi arms, “ Wh at god would wreck a man with o n e mistake ? Give him two s elves an d to each self a sword ’ ’ ” So he s h alf sl ain or ever he s awake !
n He raised his h aggar d face . In every ma
n d There is divis ion of t he dust a dream , And Youth is jus t the cross ing of the swor ds i e Before he takes his place with n the sch me . ’ l T he T own s a citadel fo r a l things flesh ,
And yet a man might stor m it with a song, e Played he not tr aitor to hims lf I quit, e u w s r ! And oh , it was t h q it ting th at a w ong
I was so lonely fo r a thing to love,
r A single look, a pas sing wo d of praise
I was as near to tr iumph as a s mile, e And now def at, d efeat for all my d ays !
e e Cities ar cru l things , h e whis pe red then , “ e a are Fa e an d e r De Th ir sl ves ilur , th i gods feat .
e am In at t h window c e a thrus t of wind , Hearing the weary music of t he street
ea e a a He l p d up with n oath , sn pped o ff t he light, s n o l An in tant, u f rg et ab e, ther e gleamed
e a . e a er u His whit f ce Th n whisp th ro gh t he d ark, “ a h ad e e re I would to God th t I n v r d amed . THE GOLDEN T REASURY
s - The years go lowly in a boarding house, Sharpened with neither p assions n o r des pairs ; e e Time seems to falt r in thos dim , gray h alls a re e t e The d ys a only footst ps on h stairs .
T he B asement yawned fo r ten ants, but none came;
It seemed completer fo r its emptiness .
a ear h ad ee it s as T o me t he r G yh t b n l t oom . ’ Still wore t he m antle of his soul s distres s .
I n ever s aw his face but once again ; It w as a s h arp cold midnight in th e fall ;
r a a a e r B o dway l y fl ming like a polish d swo d , As though o n e night wé re given to fl ame its all.
e s r - e r re T h theater , b ight mouth d , poured fo th a st am
Of p allid faces th at t he gl are s tr uck dead .
d e e T he street crawled , an t he nois w nt up to God
e me rea e s . In formless cries , lik so g t n ed un aid
T he b uffet of false brightnes s swept t he night
With rosy blus hes to t he firmamen t .
Here ran t he r iot of a hoar ded world , Here life was only reckoned to be spent !
e e e fire And her , carved in th a t grac l ss art of , ’ ’ ’ e s e o Stood Gay heart s n am , a tar s h ight er t he street .
s ear as e His wor ds came b ack to me a cl b lls , ” r r r a r ! Thei s laves a e F ailu e, nd thei gods Defea t
? s me e ? W as this defeat, then W a his fa def at ’ I knew t he sor t of comic thing h e d done . Had he forgot thos e as h es on his h ands ? Had he by h ar d forge tting played an d won ? 1 30
THE GOLDEN T REASURY
: Presumptuous, he mounts I toss his bones B ack from the height s upemal he h as braved
A e e e r er z y , as his v ss l n a s my p ilous on es,
e - I blow t h cockle shell away like ch aff,
e Sea h as e s a e And giv him to the he n l v d . He founders in its d epths ; an d then I l augh ! II
e Impregn able I held mys lf, secu re
e s Against intrus ion . Who can m a ure Man ? How s ho uld I guess his mortal will outran Defeat so far th at d anger could allure
Fo r its own s ake ? th at he would all endure, l All sacrifice, al s uffer , rather th an Forego t he d aring d ream s Olympian Th at p rophesy to him of victory s ure ?
e e e ! Ah, tam l ss courag domin ating power m Th at, all atte pting, in a de athles s hour
- r e M ad e ear th bo n T itans godlik , in revolt ! Fear is t he fire th at melts Icar i an wings
n n o T o T Who fears o r Fate, r ime, n r wh a t ime brings, ’ e A o May driv pollo s steeds, r wield t h e thunderbolt ! ’ Ha rper s Ma gazin e Floren ce Ea rle Coates
A Likeness
P rtr a t B us t o a n U n o i f n kn ow , Capitol,
N every line a s upple beauty T he res tles s head a little bent
s s e e s Di g u t of pl as u r , corn of duty,
T he ee e es e uns ing y of discont nt . OF MAGAZINE VERSE
e e I oft n come to sit b side him, This youth who p assed an d left no trace
o r e Of good ill th at did b tide him, a e S ve the disd ain upon his fac .
e h The hope of all his Hous , t e brother
A re e - e r e do d , t he gold n h a t d son , Whom For tune p ampered like a mother; h And then a sh adow on t e sun . ’ Whether he followed Cws ar s trumpet, Or ch anced t he riskier game at home T o find how favor played the strumpet In fickle politics at Rome;
Whether he d reamed a d ream in Asia
e er r e d He n v could fo g t by ay , Or a e i A g v h s youth to some spasia, Or gamed his heritage away; ’ e s Onc lo t, across t he Empire s border T his man would seek his peace in vain ; His look arr aigns a soci al ord er
e his Som how entrammelled with p ain .
The dice of gods are always load ed
On e a e r g mbl r, ar ogant as they,
er e an d Fi c , by fierce injustice goaded ,
e his z L ft both h a ard an d the play .
a a e Inc p bl of compromises ,
a e r e o r s are Un bl to fo giv p , T he str ange awarding of t he pr iz es
He h ad no fortitude to bear . t 33 T HE GOLDEN T REASURY
Tricked by the forms of things m aterial
T he - ee d solid s ming arch an stone,
T he s e w noi of ar, the pomp imperial, The heights an d d epths about a th rone He s e mi s d , among the shapes diurn al,
T h - e old , d eep tr avelled road from p ain,
T he s e thought of m n which are ete rn al,
e en . In which , tern al, m rem ain
’ Ritratto d ign o to ; d efying Things unsubs tantial as a d ream E e An mpir , long in ashes lying His a e e f c still s t again s t t he stream . Yes , so he looked , th a t gifted brother
e a s e an d e r e I lov d , who p s d l ft no t ac , Not even luckier th an this other
His s orrow in a m arble face . ’ S cr ibn er s Ma gazin e W illa Sibert Cather
’ “ 64 On a Copy of Keats En dymion
A he m e e e S not t gl a ou red season com onc mor , When earth puts on her arr as of soft green ? ’ See where along t he mea dow r illet s shore T he wild- rose buds unfold ! Eas twar d t he boughs with murmurous laughter lean ’ T o warn thems elves in morning s generous gold . T he foxgloves nod along t he Englis h lanes T h at s aw erewhile t he d ancing s pr ites of snow ; Night- long t he leaf- hid nightingale complains With such m elodiou s wo e I 34
T HE GOLDEN TREASURY
’ e By old Rom s ruined wall,
e e The lonely grav th at ali n grasses hide, And the pathetic silence shrouding all? Who would forget ? Blest be t he song that bears My soul across aerial seas of sp ace As win gé dly as airy fancy fares ! ’ For now that earth s worn face ’ The radiant glow of life s renewal wears,
re e ee Would I in reve nc s k that sacred place .
There would I lay these woven sh reds of rhyme ’ - In lieu of s cattered hea rt s eas e an d t he rose .
h s e e Behold how Song a tr iumph d ov r T ime,
s s r Fo r still hi ong rings clea , Though whe re t he tender Rom an violet grows Deep h as he s lumbered many a fateful year ! ’ If to t he poe t s rapt im aginings r Beauty be wed, with love of pu pose high, Despite t he cynic an d his scornful flings d d e Song sh all not fail an i , But like t he bird th at up t he az u re spr ings
Still thrill t he heart, s till fill t he listening sky !
The North Amer ican Review Clin ton S colla rd
S ilence
HAVE known t he silence of t he stars an d of the sea,
And t he silen ce of t he city when it p auses,
n d An d the silence of a man a a m aid ,
And the silence fo r which music alone finds the word, 1 36 OF MAGAZINE VERSE
And the silence o f the woods before the win ds of sprin g .
begin , An d the silence of the sick
When their eyes roam a bout t he room . An d I as k : Fo r t he depths Of wh at use is langu age ? A beast of t he fields moans a few times
When d eath takes its young . And we are voiceless in t he presence of realities
We cannot speak .
A cu r ious boy asks an old soldier re Sitting in front of the grocery sto , ” Ho w did you lose you r leg ?
e e And the old soldier is struck with sil nc ,
' Or his mind flies away ' e Because he cannot concentrate it o n G ttysburg . It comes back jocosely
n ff. A d he s ays, A bear bit it o
An d the boy wonders , while t he old soldier
ee e Dumbly, f bly liv s over
e er T h fl ashes of guns, the thund of cannon ,
T he sh r ieks of t he s lain,
' n r A d himself lying on the g ound ,
r e he k And the hospital su g ons , t nives, n A d the long d ays in bed. But if he could d escribe it all b n s He would e a arti t . But if h e were an artis t there would be deeper wounds e Which he could not describ .
r T here is the silence of a great h at ed ,
re e And the silence of a g at lov , THE GOLDEN TREAS URY
An d the silence of a deep pe ace of mind , An d the silence of an embittered friendship,
' t he There is silence of a spiritu al crisis, T e r hrough which your soul , xquisitely tortu ed , Comes with visions not to be uttered
Into a realm of higher life . An d t he silence of the gods who und erstand each
without speech ,
There is t he silence of defeat . T here is t he silence of those unjustly punished ; An d the silence of the dying whose h and S uddenly grips you rs .
T s e so n here is the il nce between father an d ,
a When the father cannot expl in his life,
Even though he be misunderstood for it .
There is t he silence th at comes between husband
Wife . There is t he silence of those who have failed ; And the vast silence that covers
Broken n ations an d vanquis hed leaders .
e s e There is t h il nce of Lincoln ,
T hinking of th e poverty of his youth . And the s ilence of Napoleon
After Waterloo . ’ An d the silence of Jeanne d Arc “ ” S e e e u aying amid the fl am s, Bl ssed J s s
ll e . Revealing in two words all sorrow, a hop
An d e e e e e a e th r is t h sil nc of g , T oo full of wis dom fo r t he tongue to utter it In words intelligible to those who have not lived e The great rang of life . 1 38
T HE GOLDEN T REASURY
She did not see them , but may h ave known ’ w Why her son s body as light as a little stone . She may h ave guessed th at other hands were there
Moving the watchful air .
Now, unless persu aded by searching music
Which suddenly opens the portals of the mind ,
We guess no angels,
An d are content to be blind .
Let us blow silver horns in the twilight .
An d lift our hearts to t he yellow star in t he green ,
T o s find , perhap , if while t he dew is rising,
Clear thin gs may not be seen .
Under a tree I sit , an d cross my knees,
An d smoke a cigarette .
You nod to me : you think perh aps you know me.
But I escape you , I am none of these ;
I leave my n ame behind me, I forget
I hear a fountain sh atte ring into a pool ; I see t he gold fish slantin g under the co ol ;
An d suddenly all is froz en into silence .
e er ert a An d among t h firs , o r ov des gr ss ,
s Or out of a cloud of dust, or out of d ar kne s,
Or on the first slow patter of sultry r ain , “ s c e I hear a voice cry M arvel have om to pass, ” T he like of which sh all not be seen again !
e us An d behold , across a sea one cam to , ’ e T reading t he wave s edge with his n aked f et,
e . Slowly, as o n e might walk in a ploughed fi ld OF MAGAZINE VERSE
’ re he We stood whe the soft waves on t shingle beat,
an s e e In a blowing mist, d pre s d tog ther in terror,
An d r all e o n e ma velled th at our yes might sh are error.
’ e - e For if the fish s fin e spun n t must sink ,
Or pebbles flung by a boy, or t he thin s and , How sh all we un derstand T h at flesh an d blood might tread on the se a water An d foam not wet the ankles ? We mus t think T a l we h at l know is lost, o r only a d ream ,
T a e re r a n d re h t dr ams a e l, a al things only dream .
An d if a man may walk to us like this
ns a e sea as a ea On the u t bl , on b ch , With his head bowed in thought T hen we h ave been deceived in wh at men teach ; An d all our knowledge h as come to nought;
An d e e a littl fl ame should seek th earth , An d ea e a s l v s, f lling, hould seek the sky,
An d s re r he fo u ly we should ente t womb r birth , d An sing from the ashes when we die .
w s he man Or a t a god , perh a ps, o r d evil ? T hey s ay he h ealed t he s ick by stroke of h ands ;
An d a he a e t he s th t g v sight of t he ear th to the blind .
An e r - e d I h av hea d th at he could touch a fig tr e, d “ B ” An s ay to it, e withered ! an d it would s hr ink
e a r e an d ts s n d Lik cu s d thing, wr ithe i leave , a die .
s a we ers a s e How h ll und t nd uch things , I wond r , Unless there are things invis ible to t he ey e ?
An d e e w as az ar th r L us, r aised from t he d ead
T o he s e e whom pok , qui tly, in t he dusk, az a e a a n d L rus, thr e d ys de d , a mor tified ; THE GOLDEN TREASURY
a And the p le body trembled ; as from a swo on, S ea e e w ting, t h sle per woke, an d raised his head ; An d turned his puzz led eyes from side to side
S we e hould not, then , h ar voices in a stone, Whispering softly of heaven an d hell ? s Or if one walked beside a ea, alone, Hear broodings of a bell ? ’ Or on a green hill in the evening s fire, we e If should stand an d list n to poplar trees, Should we not hear t he lit leaves suddenly choir A j argon of s ilver music against the sky ? ? Or the dew sing, or dus t profoundly cry
s s e all e : If thi is . pos ibl , then things ar An d I may leave my body cr umpled there Like an old garment on t he flo or ; To walk abroad on t he un bet ray mg am o To pass through every d or,
An d see he s art o r t hill of the e h, climb a stair .
a o u a n Wound me with spe rs, y only st b the wi d ; You n ail my cloak against a bitter tree;
You do not injure me .
I p ass through the crowd , the d ark crowd busy u m r der, Th rough t he linked arms I p ass ;
d - r An slowly descend the hill through dew wet g ass . III
s Twilight is sp aciou , near things in it seem
And dis tan t things seem near . Now in t h e green wes t h angs a yellow star; An d now across old waters you may hear 142
THE GOLDEN TREASURY
One shallow dish of eerie golden fire
By molten ch ains above the altar swinging, Draws my eyes up from the shadowed s talls To the warm chancel- dome ;
r - a o C ag like the clustered org ns l om, Yet from their thunder- th re atening choir Flows but a ghostly singing H alf- hum an voices reaching home
In infinite, tremulous surge an d falls . L ight on his stops an d keys, ’ a And p llor on the player s face,
a n er- s e z Who, listening r pt, with fi g kill to s i e ’ e e The p att rn of a mood s elusive grac , Captures his spirit in an airy l ace
Of fading, fading h armonies .
c Oh, let your oolness sooth e
s s My wearine , fr ail mus ic, where you keep Tryst with t he even- fall ; Where tone by tone you find a pathway smo oth T o yonder gleaming cross , or nearer creep
A e r z long t h b on e d wall, ’ Where sh ade by shade thro deeps of brown
Co mes the still twilight down .
? Wilt thou not rest, my though t Woulds t thou go back to th at pain- breeding room Whence only by strong wrenchings thou wert brought ?
0 e e w ary, weary qu stionin gs, Will ye pursue me to t he altar rail ere Wh my old faith fo r sanctu ary clings , An d back again my he ar t re luctant h ale e Yond r, where crushed against t he cheerless wall I44 OF MAGAZINE VE RSE
T iptoe I glimpsed t he tier on tier Of faces uns erene an d star tled eyes
r r - r Such eyes as on g im su geon wo k are set , On d espera te o utman euv erin g s of doom ? Still mus t I hear T he boding voice with cautious rise an d fall T r acking relentless to its lair
- Each fever bred progenitor of faith, Each fugitive ances tral fear ?
s e a Still mus t I follow, a t h wr ith Of antique awe towar d a wreck- making beach Drives derelict ?
N e e ay , r st, r st, my thought, Where long- loved sound an d sh adow teach
Quietness to conscience overwrought .
h - r e Harken ! T h e choristers, t e white ob d priest ’ Move thro t he ch apel dim ’ Sounding of warfare an d t he victor s palm ,
chin s he eas Of valiant mar g , of t f t ’ v Spread for the pilgrim in a h a en d calm . How on t he firs t lips of my steadfas t race
Sounded th at battle hymn , ’ - s 1 Qu aint h eaven vaunting , w t h God s gauntlet flung,
e e T o me bequeathed , from ag to ag , My ch allenge an d my heritage ! “ T he Lor d is in His holy place How in th eir ears t he h erald voice h as r ung !
e r No w will I m ake bright th ir swo d ,
c Will pilgr im in their an ient p ath , Will h aunt t he temple of th eir Lor d ; T r uth th at is neither var iable n o r h ath x45 THE GOLDEN TREASURY
Sh adow of turning, I will find In t he wise ploddings of the ir faithful mind ;
s r Of finding not, a in this f ustrate hour
By q uestion hounded , waylaid by despair, Yet in these us es sh all I know His power i As the warm flesh by breathing knows the a r .
0 futile comfort ! My faith- hungry heart St ill in your sweetness tastes a poisonous so ur; ’ ff r ff Far o , fa o I quiver neath the smart Of old indign ities an d obs cure scorn ’ Indelibly on m an s proud spirit laid , ’ T hat now in time s ironic m asquer ade Minister hea ling to t he hurt an d worn ! What are those str eams th at from the altar pour Where goat an d o x an d hum an captive bled To feed t he blood - lus t of the murderous pr iest ? ’ r I cannot see where Christ s dea love is shed , 80 deep the in satiate horror washes red
- - Fles h stains an d frenzy sears an d gore .
His re Beneath th at Cros s, whereon h ands outsp ad, Wh at forest shades behold wh at sh ameful r ites Of m aidenhood su rr endered to the beast In obscene worship on midsummer nights ! Wh at impertur bable disguis e Enwr a ps thes e organs with a ch aste restraint T o ch ant innocuous hymns an d litanies
o er n r F r sinn a d ado ing saint, Which y et inher it like an old blood- tain t e Some n aked caperin g s in the godliest tun ,
- Goat songs an d j ests strong with t he breath of Pan , That c h armed the easy cow- girl an d her man 1 46
T HE GOLDEN T REASURY
e In no one B abel were the tongues confus d ,
r But they who h andle tr uth , f om sound to sound
M aster another speech continuously .
s r Deaf to familiar words, our callou ea Will quiver to the edge of utter ance strange ; ’ - When tr uth to God s truth weary sight d raws near, Cannot God see her till s he suffer change ?
s e e Mu t ye then ch ang , my vanish d youth , Home c ustoms of my d reams ? Ch ange an d farewell !
e e r s Far w ll , you lo t ph antasmic truth
s e Th at will not con tan t dw ll, But flees t he p assion of o ur eyes An d leaves no hint behind her
w s o e s Whence s he d a n r whith r die ,
l o fo . Or if she live at al , r only r a moment seems
’ r her Here tho I only d eam I find ,
Here will I watch t he twilight d arken . ’ Yonder t he scholar s voice spins on Mesh upon mesh of loveless fate ;
Here will I res t while truth desert s him still .
s e e B r er e ? Wh at h ath h l ft thee, oth , but thy voic h After er, h ave thy will, An d h appy be thy choice ! n Here r ather will I rest, a d h ar ken
Voices longer d ead but longer loved th an thine .
Yet s till my most of pe ace is more unrest, As o n e who plods a summer road
e s s F els t he coolnes s his own motion tir ,
But when he s tops t he d ea d he at smoth ers him .
e e s H r in this calm my oul is weariest, 148 OF MAGAZINE ‘ VERSE
' E ach quest1on with m alicious goad Pressing the choice that still my soul defers
To visioned hours not thus eclipsed an d dim, Lest in my haste I deem ’ That truth s invariable part ’ Is her eluding of m an s heart . ar F ewell, calm priest who pacest slow After t he stalwart- m arching choir ! ’ Have men thro thee taught God their dear desire ? ’ Hath God t hro thee abso lv é d sin ?
‘ a Wh t is thy benediction , if I g o Sore per plexed an d wro ugh t within ? n Open the ch apel doors, a d let Boisterous mu s ic play us out Toward the flaring molten west Whither t he nerve- racked day is set;
Let the loud world, flooding back, Gulf us in its hungry rout; Rest ? Wh at part have we in rest ?
n Boy with the happy face a d hurrying feet, ’ Who with thy fr iendly cap s s alute
s h Sende t bright h ail across t e college street, u If thou co ldst see my answer ing lips, how mute, How loth to take thy student courtesy ! Wh at truth h ave I for thee ? e Rath r thy wisdom , lad, impart,
r Sh a e thy gift of strength with me .
e r s ear . Still with t he past I wrestl , but t he future gi d thy h t
Clutter of shr iveled yester days th at clothe us like a shell ,
s e o ff r an d T hy spirit loughs their bond ag , to walk newbo n
free . THE GOLDEN TREASURY
All things the hum an heart hath learned God , heaven , r n ea th , a d hell
w e Thou eig hest not fo r wh at they were, but what th y
still may be . Whether the scholar delve an d mine for faith- wreck
e buried d ep , h n e e n Or t e priest his rules a d holy rit s, l tter a d spirit, e ke p,
T r s oil o tru t in breathless dust, they sh all starve at last fo r tr uth ;
Scholar an d priest sh all live from thee, who art etern al
youth . e h s r Holier if thou dost tread it, very p ath t e prophet t od ; e e Clear r where thou dost worship, rise the anci nt hymns to God ;
b t he e a e re ar a Not y . pri st but by thy pr y rs a alt s s nctified ; e Strong with n ew love where thou dost kneel, t h cross
r whereon Ch ist died . The Yale Review j ohn Ers kin e
To a Logician
L a r D man , in whom no anim ting ay ’ Warms t he chill s ubstance of t he sculptor s cl ay ;
r e e Gr im Reasoner , with p oblems in your y s ,
e er e a ? Profes s or , S age how v do th y c ll you
- a et e a Fa r seei n g Blindm an , f me sh all y b f ll you ; Carve y o u in s tone th at Winter of the Wise ! And s et you up in some pale portico
To frown on heaven above, on earth below . 1 50
THE GOLDEN T REASURY
’ Dance awhile, the H arper s playin g ” Drink the rainbow wine with me !
o e a e s Two an d tw are four, four an d thre r even Then he only droned it on his sto ol in Heaven ; “ n d Wor k is bread a bread is living, Little mouths grow very hungry In t he rooms of Paradise She must wear a golden feather ” When s he walks along t he sky .
T wo an d are r an d are two four, fou three seven Just a whisper n o w through t he walls of Heaven ; “ r 0 I can not find t he erro , Can not strike t he gleaming B alance ’ All t he m agic s out of Figures ,
All the wonder out of loving,
An d the M aster h as no praise .
T n r e wo an d two are four, four a d th e are seven Still he mutters on at t he books of Heaven ” Wor k is bread an d bread is living
Through t he long ce lestial day . Con tempor ary Vers e S cudder Middleton
O a a a ? S , b ck g in r An d is you errand done, Unfailing one ?
r . How quick t h e gr ay wo ld , at your morning look T urns wonder- bo ok ! 1 5 5 OF MAGAZINE VERSE
n d . Co me in , O guard a guest
re e r - st Come, 0 you b athl ss f om a life long que ;
Search here my heart; an d if a comfort be, ! Ah, comfort me e You loquent one, you best
l so Of al diviners , to trace The weather- gleams upon a face; w With wordless, querying pa , Adventu ring the law !
You sh aggy Loveliness,
Wh at a was it ? What dream a guess, .c ll r Lured you, g ay ages back , From th a t lone bivouac Of the wild p ack ? W e ? e as it your n ed Or ou rs, t h calling trail Of faith th at should not fail ? Of hope dim understood ?
o That you should follow ur poor humanhood , Only because you would ! r d To sea ch an d circle, follow an outstrip, Men an d their fellowship ;
An d e es s k ep your heart no l ,
- - Your back an d forth of hope an d wistfulness, Through all world-weathers an d against all odds ! C n a you forgive us, now, You r fallen gods ? j os ephin e P reston P eabody The P oetry Review of Amer ica THE GOLDEN TREASURY
The Night Court
” ALL Rose Costara !
s he . Insolent, comes a e ee The watchers, pr ctis d , k n , turn down their thumbs .
a e - The walk, the talk, the f c , that sea shell tin t,
It is old stuff; they read her like coarse prin t .
Here is no hapless innocence waylaid . r r T his is a stolid worker at he t ade .
e a a un dis ell List ning, she y wns ; h lf smiling, may , ’ e Sh rugging a little at t he law s d lay,
Bored an d imp atient to be on her way . t It is her eighth conviction . Ou beyond the rail
A lady novelist in search of types turns pale .
She meant to write of them just as she found them,
An d with no tears o r m audlin gl amour round them , r In forceful, virile words, h arsh , t ue words, without shame,
Calling an ugly thing, boldly, an ugly n ame;
S . ympathy, velve t glove, on purpose, iron hand But eighth con viction ! All t he phrases she had planned “ ” “ ” ’ n Fail ; sullen , vengeful, no, she is t that.
No , the pink face beneath t he hectic hat Gives back her own agh ast an d sickened stare
With a detached an d rather cheerful air,
An d then the little novelist sees red .
From her chaste heart all clemency is fled . ”
“ o us l f Oh, loathsome ! v en o m Of with her head ! ” f ' Call Rose Co s t ar a l But be o re y o u stop, d a An shelve your decent r ge, ’ Le t s ca ll the co p.
T HE GOLDEN TREASURY
a - Con found them with trumpet bl ast an d say , “ d Are you so dull, so deaf an blind indeed , Th at you mistake the h arves t for the seed ? Condemn them for but stay ! ’ Let s call the code
’ T h at facile thing they ve fashioned to their mode
es n Smug sophistr i th at smother a d befool,
‘ Th at numb an d st upefy ; th at clum sy thing
e s res a s - Th at m a u mount in with a th ree foot r ule, And plumbs t he ocean with a pudding- string
ere t he r The little, br ittle cod e . H is oot,
F r s n n a out of ight, a d bu r ied s afe a d d eep,
An d e Ros Costara is t he bitter fr uit .
e n d e ee On ev ry limb a leaf, d ath, ruin , cr p .
o e s e a . S , lady n ov li t, go hom gain n Rub biting acid on your little pe . n n n Look back an d o ut a d up a d in , a d then
- Wr ite th at it is no job fo r p r uning s hears . Tell them to dig fo r year s an d years an d ye ars e T he twined an d twisted roots . Blot out t h page ; Inver t the blunder ing or der of t he ag e ;
Reverse t he scheme : t he last sh all be t he first .
he s a he rs Summon t ystem , st rting with t wo t h w t he e T e lying, dying cod e ! On , do n lin ,
n . T he city a d t he cou r t, t he cop As sign
he t he ! n d ! T he guilt , t blame, sh ame Sting, lash , a spu r Call each an d all! Call us ! An d then call her ! The Cen tury Maga zin e Ruth Comfort Mitchell
1 56 OF MAGAZINE VERSE
72 Guns as Keys : an d the Great Gate S win gs
PART I
s . D s s he UE E ast, far We t i tant a t nests of the fi n d oppos ite wind s . Removed as re a water are,
s n d s he s h s as t he cloud a t he ro ot of t hill , as t e will of
L h e - s be e e youth an d ag e . et t e k y gun mount d , m ak a w n ff P n brave show of waging ar , a d pry o t he lid of a ’ n s an d l dora s bo x once more . Get in at a y co t et out at — — e a a ere is little , so it s ems , but w it w it th much to follow through t he Great Gate !
w They do not see things in quite th at ay , on this bright
s un an d a e a November day , with fl ashing, w v s spl shing , e ll h e up an d down Ches apea ke Bay . On shor , a t e pa p rs “ are running to p res s with huge headlines : Commodore ” ’ D n - e z r a e er es Per ry S ails . ini g t abl s bu z with t v ll s tal
' w e of old Japan culled from Dutch wr iter s . But are not
o s he a n d r e like t he Dutch . N hutting t st rs a st ip s up
! W e s ere e we on an is land . Pooh mu t tr ade wh v r h ave ! a mind . Naturally
e r re T he wh arv s of No folk a falling behind , becoming s a e c e he are ses an d t he r s m ll r , onfus d with t w hou t ee .
e On t he imp tus of t he strong Sou th breeze, t he p addle wheel s team frigate Mis s is s ippi of t he United States
S a a an d a Navy, s ails down t he fl ashing bay . ails w y, ste ms
o h r n d h a - away, f r e furn aces are bu rning, a er p ddle wheels d d l s e s et n . en turning, an a l her ails ar a full Pull, m , to the old c horus : THE GOLDEN TREASURY
A Yankee ship sails down the river,
Blow, boys, blow ;
Her m as ts an d spars they shine like s ilver,
s . Blow, my bully boy , blow
But what is the use ? T h at pl aguey brass b and blares “ - n out with T he Star Sp angled B anner, a d you cannot
e n . t he h ar the me because of it Which is a pity, thinks
n d ar Commodore, in his cabin , studying the map, a m k
- : r s ing stepping s tones M adeir a, Cape Town , M au itiu ,
fi s - e e - e Singapore, nice rm tepping places for s v n l ague
l - n re; boots . F ag stones up a d down a hemisphe
! h e ff h My How s e throws t he wat r o from er bows, an d how those p addle-wheels churn her along at t he rate
Mr M s s s . i i of seven good knots ! You are a proud lady, s
B ll - flutter s ippi, curtseying down Chesapeake ay , a a
d . with re , white an d blue ribbons
At Mishiwa in the Province of Kai, T hree men are trying to measu re a pine tree
By t he length of their outstretched arms . Trying to s pan t he bole of a huge pine tree
By t he spread of t heir lifted arms . Attempting to compress its girth
Within t he limit of their extended arms . F Beyond , uji , e e M aj estic, in vitabl ,
Wreathed over by wisps of cloud .
T he clouds d r aw about t he mountain ,
But there are gaps . ee T he men reach about t he pine tr , But their h and s break ap art ; 1 58
T HE GOLDEN T REASURY
r u e s a ' Hitch up your t o s r , Bl ck Face, an d do a hoin ’ e pipe . It s a fine qui t night for a double s huflle . Keep h ’ er . . T goin g, Jim Louder hat s t he ticket . Gosh, but ” can s Bl ck e l you pin , a y
T he road is hilly
s T e Out ide t he ig r Gate, An d striped with sh adows from a bow moon
Slowly sinking to t he hor izon . T he roadway twinkles with t he bobbing p aper
lanterns ,
e - s a e r M lon h p d , ound , oblong, Lighting t he ste ps of those who pas s along it;
An d ee th ere is a sw t singing of m any s emi, From t he cages which an ins ect seller
Carries on his b ack .
- e t r e . W s ward of the Can a i s , in a wind blaz ing sea
eers e e ex s es c ar e ers Engin , th r , tingui h t he furn ac ; p nt ,
r re r er s an d s n d s e quick, you sc wd iv m allet , a un hip t h
- o h s s er a e b r s . rea er s a r r a he p ddl a d B k out il , qu a te m t s, t
er fo wind will carry her fas t th an s he c an s team , r t he n trades h ave her o w, an d a re whipping her along in fine
Ke - o es s e e s clipper style . y guns , y u r muzzl hin lik ba alt
e c above t he tumbling waves . Po lis h d b asa lt ameoed
- - fin upon m al achite . Yankee doo dle d andy ! A e upstand
s ing ship, clouded with canvas , lipping along like a trotting ’ s n filly out of t he Co mmodore s o wn sta bles . White s ail a d
r ! e ffice s n d ed s ar s r e sailo s , blue coat d o r , a r in a t pa k d ’ th rough t he cl aret d ecanter o n t he Commodore s luncheon table .
T e e e h Commodor is writing to his wife, to be post d 1 60 OF MAGAZINE VERSE
e at t h next stopping place . T wo ye ars is a long timc fto
be upon the sea .
Nigi-o i of Mats uba- y a
r e r Celeb at d oi an ,
t e a r e e Cour s n of un ivall d b auty,
T h c e great silk mer er, Mitsui, Counts hims elf a fo rtun ate man As he watches her p ar ad e in front of him In her robes of gl aze d blue s ilk E mbroidered with s inging nightingales . He puffs his little silver pipe
An d arr anges a fold of her dress . He p arts it at t he neck An d l aughs when t he falling plum- blossoms
T ickle he r n aked breasts . T he next morning h e m akes out a bill T o t he Direc tor of t he Dutch Factory at Nagasaki Fo r three times t he amount o f t he good s Forwar ded th at day in two sm all junks
In t he care of a tr us ted cler k .
T he N r eas ra es e o th t t d h av smoothed away into hot,
- blue dold rum s . Paddle wheels to t he res cue . T h ank i i we e an a e e . a r ere s God , liv in g of inv ntion Wh t a th ,
ea a ea . T he e bed c s e e r is d d h d d ck is a of inder , w w a a ? smoke cloud like a funeral plume . Funer al of whom Of t he little heathens ins ide t he Gate ? Wa it ! Wait !
T es e - men c e h h e monk y h ave got to tr ade, Un l Sam as
a r s - zz laid his pl ns with ca e, see tho e black guns si ling ’ “
er . s e ce e e th e It d u d hot, s ays a li ut n ant, I wish I could look in at a hop in Newpo rt this evening . THE GOLDEN TREASURY
The one hun dred an d sixty streets in the Sanno quarter
- Are honey gold ,
- - Honey gold from the gold foil screens in the houses , Honey- gold from the fresh yellow m ats ;
The lintels are draped with bright colors, An d from cav es an d poles Red an d white paper lanterns
Glitter an d swing . Through the one hundred a n d sixty decorated stree ts r of the Sanno qu arte ,
Tr ails the procession ,
With a bright slownes s, d To the music of flutes an drums . Great white sails of cotton
- Belly out along the honey gold streets.
Sword bearers,
Spear bearers,
M ask bearers,
Gr inning m asks of mount ain genu, An d a white cock on a drum
Above a purple sheet .
Over t he flower hats of the people,
e Shines t he sacr d palanquin , ” e Car o f gentl motion ,
Upheld by fifty men , er e d Stalwart s vants of t h go ,
- Bending under t he weight of mirror black lacquer, Of pillars an d roof- tree
Wrapped in ch ased an d gilded copper .
Pp rt ly silk tassels sway to the m arching of feet, Wreaths of gold an d silver flowers
- Shoot sudden scintillations at the gold foil screens . 162
T HE GOLDEN TREASURY
'
hu a a k . Oh , s t up , J ck, you m ke me sic Those pigs B ” are like worms eating a corpse. ah !
T he l adies,
s - f- Wi tari a Blossom , Cloth o Silk, an d Deep Snow,
a s With their ten attend nt , Are come t o As ak usa
To gaze at peonies .
r - e To admi e crimson carmin peonies ,
s re n - To ta in admiratio at bomb shaped , white
s ulphur peonies, To caress with a soft finger
r e- Single, os flat peonies ,
- e e Tight, incurved , red dg d peonies,
- e c r Spin whe l ircle, am a anth peonies .
e e e e To s m ll t h acrid pung nc of peony bloo ms, And d ream fo r month s afterwards
e r e at As a k us a Of t he t mple ga d n , Where t hey walked togeth er
Looking at peonies .
T he Gate ! The Gate ! The far- shining Gate ! Pat your guns an d th ank you r stars you h ave not come too ’ l e- late . T he Or ient s a s leepy pl ace, as al glob trotters ’ e e er s o e a s an d c s ay . W ll g t th e o n nough , my l d , arry it ’ T e s t e a e away . h at s a good nough ong to round h C p ’ T e e with , an d there s t he a bl Cloth on Tabl Mountain ’ an d we ve d rawn a bea d o ver h alf t he curving world .
o r e . T h ree c heers fo r Old Gl y, f llows
’ A D aimin o s proces s ion
e w r Winds betwe n t o g een hills , OF MAGAZINE VERSE
e r A lin of thin , sh a p, s hining, pointed spears Above red coats
An d yellow mus hroom hats . A man leading an o x
H s s e he as ca t him lf upon t ground ,
H r e rubs his fo ehead in t he dus t,
his x While o gazes with wide, moon eyes At t heglittering spears M aj es tic ally p ar ading
Between two green hills .
D e o o own , down , down , to t h b tt m of t he map; but
we he er s e . A c must up again , high on t oth id m eri a, s ail ing t he seas of a planet to s tock t he s hop counters at
e- a home . Commerc r aiding a n tion ; pulling apart t he
curt ains of a temple an d calling it trade . M agnificent s miss io n ! Every shop- till in every by - street will bless
e h s e t he z es you . Forc t e hut gat with muz l of your black
T e a — fo r e rs n d s e cannon . h n w it wait fifty y a a e
who h as conquered .
. he Mi s s e he But now t s is s ippi mu t brav t Cape, in a
s e T s E s cras hing of bitter as . he wind blow a t, t he wind
ere re er es e c s c blows Wes t, th is no st und th la hing loud s .
e re e s a er P t l whir l by like torn n w p p s along a street .
- D Alb atros ses fly close to t he m as t heads . read purrs
e n s e e ov r this s tormy ocean , a d t he m ll of t h water is t he
e . d ad , ooz ing d ampnes s of tombs
T r c e ree s e iger r ain on t he temple b idge of arv d g n ton , Slanting tiger lines of rain on t he lich ened lanterns of
e t he gat way,
On the s ton e s tatues of mythical warriors . THE GOLDEN TREASURY
Striped rain m aking the bells of t he pagod a roo fs flutter,
T - s r iger footing on the bluish stone of the courtya d ,
- n Beating, sn apping, on the cheese rou ds of open um
brell as,
- Licking, tiger tongued , over t he straw mat which a
is pilgrim wears upon h shoulders,
- er Gn awing, tiger toothed , into the pap mask
Which he c arr ies on his back .
- - Tiger clawed r ain scattering t he peach blossoms, T iger t ails of rain lashing furiously among the crypto
morias .
— - . e . T he Land O M auritius . Stepping ston four
s e coaling hips h ave arrived , an d t he shor is a hive of
Ne n . T groes , an d M alays, a d Lascars , an d Chinese he “ n clip a d cl atter of tongues is unceasing . Wh at awful “ ” r brutes ! Obvious ly, but t he fruits they sell a e good . ”
F . e fo ood , fellows , bully good fo od Yankee mon y r - d e es a . ere an pin appl , sh ddocks, m angoes Who w Paul ” “ r e ere Vi ginia ? Oh , a couple of spo oneys who di d h , in ’ s e s n a e off her a hipwreck, b cau e t he lady would t t k ” “ ’
F w . smock . I s ay , red , th at s a shabby ay to put it ’ ” “ ’ rea You ve no sentiment . M aybe, I don t d much
a e e myself, an d when I do, I prefer United St t s , som thing ”
A r e . an d like old rtemus Wa d , for instanc Oh , dry up , ’ ’ e let s get some donkeys an d go for a gallop . W ve got ” - e e . to b gin coaling to morrow, r member
e r s se T he b autiful d e s,
e a e Blue, Gre n , M uve, Y llow; An d t he beautiful green pointed h ats Like Chin ese po rcelain s l 1 66
' T HE GOLDEN T REASURY
The smoke of golden Virginia tobacco floats through the “ blue palms You s ay you killed forty elephants with ” ” d a ba . this rifle ! Indeed , y es , an trifling g , too
Down the ninety mile rapids
Of t he Heaven Dragon River,
e He cam , e With his bowm n ,
e And his s pearm n ,
Borne in a gilded pal anquin, ’ To pass t he Winter in Yedo ’ By t he Shogun s decree .
T o pass t he Winter idling in the Yoshiwara, While his bowmen an d s pearm en Gamble away their r us ted weapon s Every evening
At the Hou r of t he Cock .
’ Her Britannic M aj es ty s frigate Cleopatr a salutes t he e Mis s is s ippi as s he sa ils into t h h arbor of Singa pore .
Ves se s lo re e t he ar es . r a S a l gg chok wh v F om Chin , i m , T E r e A er c . M alaya ; Sumatra, u op , m i a his is t he bargain
s — s counter of t he Eas t . Good Good , dumped as hore a n d to ch ange boats an d s ail on again . O ths a cupidity ; greas y clothes an d greasy dollars wound into tu r bans . ’ - e s ex e s n Opium an d birds n s t ch ang d fo r teas, ca s ia, an
re a ere fo e keens ; gold th ad b rt d r Br umm ag m buttons . n l Poc ket knives told off agains t teapots . Lots a d o t s of
r e n d chea p d am aged po c l ains , a trains of silken bales
s es e awaiting advantageous al to Yankee m rch antmen . T he fig urehead of t he Mis s is s ippi should be a ben eficen t
e . s ers ua ang l With her gun to p de , s he should lay t he OF MAGAZ INE VERSE
foundation of such a m arket o n the shores o f Ja pan . “ ” r We will do wh at we can , writes the Commodo e, in his cabin .
T k n i S Outs ide the dr apery shop of a et a abai,
Strips of d ried cloth are hanging out to dry .
mi s u Fine Ari t cloth , n Fine blue a d white cloth ,
Falling from a high s taging,
er Falling like falling wat , Like blue an d white unbro ken water ff Sliding over a high cli ,
Like t he Ono Fall on t he Kiso k aido Road .
k e n i S a Outs id e t he s hop of T a t a b ai, ' T hey h ave hung t he fine dyed cloth
In strips out to dry .
n e n d ll a e Rom ance a d h roism ; a a to m k one dollar two .
n d res e ee s r Through grey fog a f h blu br ze , th ough heat,
d s e n d s ee e r . Fo r e e an l et, a h t d ain c ntu ri s men h ave ’ - - - pursued t he will o t he wisp trade . An d they h ave got w h at ? All civiliz ation weighed in twopenny scales an d fas tened with s tring . A sailing planet packed in a
- d s bo x. s an d s s n d s ex ry good Knock , hock , a block of
e e e e e f n . n t nd d knowledg , cont nd d o r a d won Cloves a d nutmegs , an d science stowed among t he grains . Your
e e e s gains are not in s ilv r , m arin rs , but in t h song of violins , an d t he thin voices whis pering th rough printed books . ” e - e ffic It looks like a dinn r pl at , thinks t he o er of
' s h Mis s s s e t he watch , a t e is ippi sail up the muddy riv r ’ D e n e n d to Canton , with t h e r agon s Cav Fort on o side, a ’ the Gir l s Shoe Fort on t he other . THE GOLDEN TREASURY
e T h Great Gate looms in a distant mist, an d the a d nchored squ adron waits an rests, but its coming is as certain as t he equinoxes , an d the lightnin g bolts o f its guns are ready to tear o f centuries like husks o f corn .
T he e a e Commodore sips bottl d w t r from Saratoga, an d a e e m kes out a report for the Stat D p artment . T he men
a - a d- s d o fli e pl y pitch n tos , an t he c rs poker, an d the bet
e - e ting gives heavy odds against the littl monkey m n .
On the floor of the reception room of the Palace T e h y h ave laid a white quilt,
s And on t he quilt, two red rug ; And they h ave set up two screens of white paper
T o hide th at which should not be seen . h a e a At t e four corners, they h ave pl c d l nterns,
And now they come .
Six attend ants ,
T hree to sit on either side of the condemned man ,
Walking slowly .
T hree to t he right,
Three to the left, And he between them In his d ress of ceremony
With the great wings . w the a e n Shadow wings, thro n by l nt r light, h e T rail over t he red r ugs to t e polish d floor,
Trail away unnoticed , Fo r there is a sh ar p glitter from a d agger
Born e past the lanterns on a silver tray, “ 0 my M aster,
I would borrow your sword, 1 70
THE GOLDEN TREASURY
PART II
Four vess els giving easily to the low running waves
n d a re e . a catsp w b ezes of a Summer s a July, 1 85 3, Mid
- e he r . e t he C ntury, but just on t tu n Mid C ntury, with
- vanishing h alf flutter ing behind on a foam bubbled wake . “ ” w s f Fou r ar hips steering o r the Land of Great Peace,
e e e ca parison d in sta te, cl aving a j welled ocean to a
D a a e . e h en r gon G t B hind it, t e quiet of after noon . Gold
ec n W r light refl ting from t he i ner sides of shut portals . a ’ n es e b e e is a old wiv tal , a frail eautiful mbroidery of oth r T e . h r s ag s e p anoply of b attle fades . Arrows u t in
r s s ears s e e e . a sen al , p stand u l s s on their butts in vestibul s
a li n d C nnon e unmounted in castle yard s , an d rats a sn akes ma ke nests in them an d rear their young in un moles ted s atis faction . T he sun o f mid s ummer lies over the Land of Great ” e he Peace, an d be hind t h shut gate they do not hear t p addle- wheels of dis tant ves s els unceas ingly tu rning an d
e adv ancing, th rough t he j ewelled scintillations of t h encircling sea .
ha a n s s s a e S a r a S us que n n a d Mi i s ippi, ste m rs, towing w th e e toga an d Ply mouth, s loops of ar . Moving on in v ry
o an e r ey e of th e wind , with n t a snip of c vas upon th i
F ! n ab e o fo r es slim yard s . ugi a poi t ov n thing, th e is
S o z is t he e ear e an d a h aze . t p ga ing, th at bugl to cl d cks
o W e be re are as we run t he as s h t guns . must p p d , up co t “ b s r B . a e e a st aight to t h e ay of Yedo I s y , f llows , thos o t ’ c e o a is think th ey an catch us , th y don t kn w th t this ” An d e T h e s are at r . Yank e steam . B ang ! hore guns wo k 172 OF MAGAZINE VERSE
- t h at smoke ball would be a rocket at night, but we can not see t he gleam in this sunshine . e a a Black with people are t h bluffs of Ur ga, w tching “ ” - b Sa ll the fire s hips lipping windless up t he ay . y a
e S n an d B a . the prayers you know, pr i s ts of hi to uddh
s s s a a Ah ! T he gre at s pl ashing of t he wh eel top , ch in
T h s at the r o f t he a e . r attles . e anchor drop hou p ’ A clock on t he Co mmodore s c hest of d r awers strikes
fiv e with a silvery tinkle .
B a s Boats are coming from all directions . e autiful bo t
r w e r ems o f unpainted wood, b oad of beam , ith ta p ing st , e me r ers an d clean runs . Swiftly th y co , with shouting ow
r T h s o r t ers ear s tanding to th eir oa s . e h e gli t with sp s
he s a a e an d lacquered h ats . Compactly t boat dv nc , — — an d each carries a flag white- bl ack- white an d t he
b n d Bu he to w - es a re as str ipes reak a blow . t t lin c t loose when t he rowers would m ake them fas t to t he “ black s hips , an d those who would climb the ch ains
s slip back dism ayed , ch ecked by a how of cutl ass es, “ ” s es N a r u Hodo ! T is az n un re pis tol , pik his am i g , p
n ed! e he V e e u he r s cede t Ev n t ic Gov rnor, tho gh boa d “
ha a e . t he S us que n n , cannot s ee t he Commodor His
s er es s he F rb en High Mighty My t iousn , Lord of t o idd ”
n e b . x o r e I ter ior, r m ains in his ca in E tr a rdin ary ! Ho ribl !
e s r r he n d r s s r Rock t ise f om t forts , a thei trail of pa ks
e n glitt r fa i tly now, an d their bombs brea k in faded colors
e wn as t h e s un go s do .
the a e e - e Bolt g t , monk y men , but it is late to b gin
n turning locks so ru s ty a d worn .
Dar e er r e- fields n d T Ga e kn ss ov ic a hills . he Gold t
- e s w . m o hid s in h ado Upon t he indigo d ark water , illi ns
e - - of white j lly fis h drift, like lotus petals over an inland T HE GOLDEN TREASURY
a . l ke The land buzzes with prayer, low, dim smoke h anging in air ; an d every hill gashes an d glares with
T he fire- e s . ar r i shooting fire b lls e ing ng in double time, an d a heavy swinging boom cl ashes from t he great bells
e e . e of t mpl s Cour i rs lash their horses, riding fur ious ly to Yedo ; junks an d s cull- bo ats arrive hourly at Shin agawa
e e s with n ws ; runn rs , bear ing di patches , pant in govern ment offices . T he hollow doors of t he Grea t Gate beat
h e with alarms . T e ch arm d Dr agon country sh akes an d
re es . é o s hi e t mbl Iy y , tw lfth Shogun of the T okugawa e s he s . S t lin , it in his city its in midst of one million, two
re a e b n hund d thous nd tr m ling souls , a d his mind rolls
a an d e r forw rd back lik a ball on a ci cular runway, an d
. s finds no goal Roll , poor di tracted mind of a sick man .
What can you do but wait, tr usting in your Dragon
e fo Gat , r how should you kn ow th at it is rusted . “ ” ere is a t e e But th sign over h bl ack ships . A w dge
e a e ar e s e d shap d t il of blu sp kl t , edg d with re , trails above them as though a Dragon were pour ing violet sulphu rous e spume from st aming nostr ils , an d t he hulls an d rigging
e er are pal , quiv ing, bright as T aira ghos ts on t he sea of
Nagato .
an d o n a e e s o re n d d e Up d w , w lk s ntin l , f a aft , an at t h side gangways . T here is a pile of round s hot an d fo ur
a e es e e n d b s tands of gr p b id ach gun ; a car ines, an d pis tols,
c e he . an d utlasses , ar laid in t boats Floating arsen als
e- fo r he r n floating s ampl rooms t wa es of a conti ent, shop
r e counte s, fl ank d with weapons, adr ift among t he j elly
fishes . n h e e Eight bells, a d t e m t or washes away before the wet , white wis ps of d awn . T hrough t he countrys ides of the Land of Great
THE GOLDEN T REASURY
r do doo s if you not open them in time . East an d West, an d ra e a e t d sh d d by heroism . Hokusai is dead , but his
s are a r e he pupil l mpooning your ca pet soldiers . Spar t
— e dyn asty parl y, p rocr as tin ate . Appoint two Princes
r e e re at e s n e he w n o t a t to ec iv the Commodo , onc , i c ill w i
er . r a fo r h s n o ov long At Ku ih m a , e mu t t come to Yedo . — Flip flap flut t er fl ags in fron t of t he Con fer
ce s . n en Hou e Built over night, it seem s , with u painted
ea e s o e p k d ummits of ro fs gl aming like r icks of gr ain .
u er fl r u - e s Flip fl tt ap va io s ly tint d fl ag , in a cres cen t a bo ut nine tall s tand ards whose lo n g scarlet pennons
n br us h t he groun d . Be at t ap fill a d rel aps e t he
us c s c n n wind p hing agains t t aut white loth ree s , bellyi g ’ out t he Shogun s c res t of h eart- s h aped As a rum leaves in t he n n n pa els , cr umpli g them to indefi ite figu res of scarlet
n r en er spotti g white . Flip r ipple b ight ov s er r ied
- ra s s e e c . r e rers nk of oldi rs on t he b a h Swo d b a , s pea r
earer a r ers er n d se w ho r r e b s, ch , l anc s, a tho ca y h avy,
n - e v e a tiqu ated match locks . T h e block of th m fi thous and
ar e men n in ra en . m d , d r aw up front of a c cking gold door
s n e s he c s are e . But behind th eir br i tli g s p ar , t cra k hidd n
B n b n o w n s rayi g, l as ti g bl ares fr m t o bras s ba d , ap pro achin g in glitterin g boats over glitter in g water . On e “ ” “ n e T e he is pl ayi g t h Overtu re from William ll , t “ ” e T h e L s u er an d t he w a oth r , a t Rose of S mm , y the
n d c n n d ss e notes cl as h , a s ho k , a d s h atter, a di olv , is
n d he wonderful to h ear . Queer b ar bar i an mus ic, a t
n - n n o it s rev er ber mo key soldi ers s ta d s tock s till , lis te ing t ation hummin g in t h e fo ld ed doo r s of t he Great Gate .
ff - s o d s re ur s Stu your e ars , monkey l i ers , c w yo face , s e n d o a ! n o ! hudd r up a d wn you r s pines . C nnon C a n n “ ” from o n e of t he black s hips . Thirteen thudding ex 1 76 OF MAGAZINE VERSE
r a s plosions, thirteen red d gon tongue , thirteen clouds of
e he ee smok like the breath of t mountain gods . Thirt n
he re n d h ammer strokes shaking t G at Gate, a the seams
Se e e n . d in the metal widen Open s am , shotl ss guns ; a “ d b e i T he Only, High , Grand an Mighty, Invisi le My st r ” o sn rev e a n d s u ess , Chief B arb ari an ls himself, a step into hi s barge . — — - - s r a r . Up, oars, down ; d rip sun p y rowlock attle T o shore ! To shore ! Set foot upon t he s acred s o il of “ ” t h e Land of Great Peace, with it s five thousand a rmed m n - en doing nothing with their spea rs a d m atch locks , becaus e of t he genii in t he blac k guns aboard t he blac k ” ships .
- On e hundred m arines in a line up the wh arf. One
m ffice hund red s ailors, man to an , oppos ite them . O rs , — e e re e B n two deep ; an d, up t h c nt t h Procession . a ds “
o o . l s r together n w : H ail C lumbia M arines in fi e, ailo s
r t he A er a fla s e en afte , a s taff with m ic n g borne by am , ’ wo anoth er with the Commodore s broad penn ant . T ’ o r b ys , dressed for ceremony, ca rying t he Pres ident s
e er n e- a l tt a d credentials in golden boxes . Tall , blu bl ck — negroes on either side of T H E COMMODORE ! Walking
w - e slo ly, gold , blue, s teel glitt r , up to the Conference
se e u an a e er e Hou , walking in stat p to nci nt tott ing Gat ,
c e n o w a . o l ately losed secu r ly, but g ping B ands, rain y u r
a o en rr er music gainst this g ld b a i , h arry the e ars of t he
- e . T he r r ar d monk y men doo s a e aj , an the Commodore h e as ent red .
Prince of Idzu Pr ince of Iwami in winged dres ses
e n d red o of gold brocad , at t he e of a car pet, under vi let, THE GOLDEN TREASURY
s es - ilken h angings, under cr ts of scarlet heart sh a ped
ar ea e s e As um l v s, gu ardi ans of a carl t l acquered box,
s gu ardians of golden door , worn thin an d bending .
en e t he e- a e r e n d In sil c blu bl ck n g o s advance, a take the golden boxes from t he page boys ; in s ilence they
e e n e op n th m a d unwra p blue v lvet cover ings . Silently they display t he documents to t he Pr ince of Idz u the Pr e inc of Iwami motionles s , ins cr utable beyond
t he red carpet .
T he e r es s v llum c ackl a it is unfolded , an d the long silk- gold cords of t he s eals d rop their gold tas sels to stra ight glistening in c h es an d swing s lowly gold t assels
- n e u e . clock ticki g b fore a doomed , b rnish d g ate T he negroes lay t he vellum documents upon t he scarlet
a e e bo b n d . l cqu r d x; o w , a retire “ I am d esi rous th at o ur two countries should trad e ”
e r . C e c e r e with ach othe areful l tters , ar fully t ac d on
ar e n d h as s t he s a rich p chm nt , a t e low sun c t h dow of
he n t Gate far i land over high hills . “ T he letter of t h e President of t he Uni ted States will
n be delivered to the Emperor . T herefore you c a now g o .
T he n : r t he s Commodore , risi g I will retu n for an wer ” r h m du ing t e co ing Spring .
Bu a r n d s r c e o n t ships e frail , a sea a e fi kl , e c an n ail
re n re n f sh plating over t he thi gate befo Spr ing . Pri ce — Idz u Pr ce w a s r ab e s me of in of I mi in c ut l t ates n ,
se s s r s n e a w h e in n ate idiot , t u ti g blith ly to lock hen t e k y
n n w gu s are trained eve n o upon it .
P o ce s Di r c a Withd raw, r s ion . p oa s b a k to the bl ck ”
s . S b n e fo er d ship lip ca les a d d par t, r day aft ay will s lap e an d nothing can retard a coming Spring . 1 78
T HE GOLDEN TREASURY
- ha a down the qu arter deck of t he P ow t n . I wonder wh at the old yellow devils will do, he muses .
a ee Forty feet high , the c mellia tr s , with h ard , green
b ear et fo r a e s n d buds un u rst . It is ly y c m llia , a the green buds an d t he gl aze d green leaves tos s fr antically
e r in a blus ter in g M arch wind . Sh lte ed be hind t he forty
e t e fe t high camellia trees , on h hills of Idz u, stand watch
en s n e r e s er r e m tr ai ing th i ye ov a b ok n d azz le of s ea . — Ju st at t he edge of mo o nlight an d sunlight moon
n n e e w r setting ; s u r is i g they come . S v n a ships heele d
n e over an d fl as hi g, d ashing th rough h aped waves , s leep
n e er r es e ing a moment i hollows l aping ov idg , swe ping forward in a s tr ain of canvas an d a tr ain of red- black smoke . “ T he fire- ships ! T he fire- ships !
h u s m Slip t e br idles of yo r hor es, essengers , an d cl atter
h T o ido s er e es r u down t e k a ; catt p d t ians , p al anq ins ,
n c d e slow movi g attle, r ight an l ft into t he cryptomeri as ;
a e e r es e s - r ttl ov r b idg , spatt r du t into shop windows .
o e T o Fo n r T Y do ! Yedo ! r Spri g is he e, an d t he hrs s hips h ave come !
s e s d Seven ves l , flying t he stars an stripes, three more
e e - r s o e s hor tly to join th m , with r ip , fruit bea ing gun p int d inl and .
Le n e Princes evince doubt, di strus t . ar ing must b at
. P r n De a learning Appoint a rofesso of t h e U ivers ity . l y,
o w c n h c n e ? p revaric ate . H long a t e pl ay onti u H ayashi, — le arn ed s c ho l ar of Con fu ciu s an d M en cius he s h all
n er h B n a co f with t e ar ba ri a s at U r aga . Sh ll he ! Word come s that t h e Mighty Chief of Ships will n o t go to
1 80 OF MAGAZINE VERSE — a a . d Ur g Steam is up , an Horror ! Co n stematio n !
a r e ! S r The squ dron moves towa d Y do ailo s, mids hipmen ,
e r an d - r e lieut n ants p ack ya ds cross t ees , s eing temple
a es c e e s n d o o - g t , astle towers , flow r d p agod a , a l k outs n d h C looming dis tan tly cle ar, a t e ommodore on deck c an he ar t he s low boo ming o f t he bells from t he temples
S n of hib a a d As a k us a .
s Pr e n You mu t capitul ate, great inc s of a quiveri g
a e . Sa n d t he re ree G t y Yokoh am a, a Commodo will ag , fo r they must not come to Yedo . Row s of j apo n icas in full blo o m outs ide t he Confer
. e ence House Fl ags an d s tr amers , an d music i ans an d f e e . e n re e rs e a e s d pik m n Fiv hu d d o fic , s m n , m ar ine , an
- t he Commodore following in his white p ain ted gig . A
n s n d o jig of for tu e indeed , with a ailor a a p r fessor ma n uv rin fo r r s es - a er a a e oe g te m , ch s playing e ch oth in g m of future centu ries .
he e res e s n o w T Am r icans bring presents . P nt , to be
e a e . o o e o s r s . bought h re ft r G dwill , to h ad l ng bill of impo t
Occid ent al mec h anis ms to pu s h t he Orient into limbo . ’ x- n P s bo x Fo moves of inter p reters , a d andor a with a
n s e f l w co tent rat d ar too o . Round an d round go es t he little tr ain o n it s ci rcul ar
n o r ra n es r ailroad , at twenty miles a h u , with g ve dig itari
e es e res at es s a es r n n seat d on its roof. Smil , g s tu , m g un i g
e e m e T t he ar w s t he o ov r wir , a il away . ouch h ro , pl ws, “ ” s s re he t he fl ail , an d s hudd er at t he pirit pictu s of t
T ese B arbar a s a e ar e s se d aguerreotype m achine . h i n h v h n d b b n o gods an d d r agon s . T hey uild oats which will t s n d n o ee s e o w t he ink, a ti ker little g ld wh l till th y f llo swinging of t he s un .
e . Run to the Conference House . See, feel, list n And
1 8 1 THE GOLDEN TREASURY shrug deprecating shoulders at the glis ten of s ilk an d lacquer given in retu rn . Wh at are cups cut out of conch
e s n d ed- e c é sh ll , a r dyed figu r d r pe, to r ail roads, an d bu rning engines ! Go on board t he bl ack ships an d dr ink mint juleps an d es e er brandy sm ash , an d click your tongu s ov sweet f s . r h s er s s are pudding O fe t e trang s pickled plum , ug d
r . a f uits, candied walnuts B ruit t he news far inl nd
n n s o f he th rough t he mo uths of countryme . Who thi k t Great Gate ! It s portals are push ed so far back th at the T h e shining edges o f th em c an scarcely be observ ed . Commodore h as never swerv ed a moment from his pur
i e ere pose, an d t he dragon mouths of h s guns h av conqu d
- without t he need of a s in gle powd er horn .
s T he Commodore writes in his cabin . Write an account h of what he as done .
s n es an d an The ands of centuries run fast, o e slid , other, each falling into a smother of dus t . A locomotive in pay fo r a Whistler ; telegr aph wire s ’ buying a revolution ; weig hts an d meas u res an d Audubon s
e - men ea bir ds in exch an g e fo r fear . Ye llow monk y l p ’ P n b c t he es ing out of a dor a s o x, sh a king t he ro ks of W tern
e r bar er a r s . coastline . Gold n Califo nia t ing p nic for p int T he d res sing- gown s of a continent won at t he cost of
s n d s ers t he r- as s security . Artist a philo oph lost in hou gl an d pour ing th rough an open Gate .
en T en s hips s ailing fo r Chin a on a fa ir May wind . T bu e er ships s ailin g from o n e wor ld into another , t n v
wo e r s an d a - r again into t he o n e they left . T y a tip tu n
v n d a Ri Van is accomplished . O er t he globe a b ck, p
o r Winkle s hips . Slip into your docks in Newport, in N 1 82
I‘ HE GOLDEN TREASURY
’ ’ e e e Fo on the crest of this rock, no un asin ss is l ft in me . r t h e first time I know th at extreme pessimism an d extreme ” optimism are one .
AMER CA 1 90 3. I
e Noctu rne Blue an d s ilver B atters a B ridge .
Nocturne Grey an d Silve r Chelsea Embankment .
Var iations in Violet an d Green .
- ll d n Pictures in a gl ass roofed gallery, an d a ay lo g t he th rong of people is s o gre at th at o n e c an sc arcely
s — s ? F x an d flo w r a s ee them . Debit credit lu th ough
w e e c e r e a e ear . id gat way . Oc id nt O i nt ft r fifty y s The S even Arts Amy Lowell
The Field of Glory
L e AR s hook t he l an d where evi dw lt, e And fired t he dis m al wrath he f lt, Th at s uch a doom w as ever wrought
s his e ers u A , to toil whil oth fo ght ;
re m an d s rea T o toil, to d a till to d m , With o n e day barren as an oth er ;
s e s ee T o con umm at , a it would s m ,
T he dry des p air of his old moth er .
Far o ff o n e afternoon began T he soun d of man des troyin g man ;
n L e e a e A d evi, sick with n am l ss r g ,
n Condemned agai his her it age, 1 84 OF MAGAZINE VERSE
An d sighed for scars th at might h ave come,
And would , if once he could h ave sundered
Those h arsh , inhering claims of home n r T hat held him while he cursed a d wonde ed .
d n e e e Another ay , a d th n th r came,
Rough , bloody, r ibald , hungry, lame, ’ e e Le r But y t th mselves, to vi s doo ,
T wo re d r mn ants of t he ay befo e . T hey laughed at him an d wh at he sought ;
e ee e d a T h y j r d him , an his p inful acre ;
L e ad f But evi knew that th y h ought,
r e r And left their manne s to th i M aker.
T ’ h at night, for the grim widow s ears,
e a e e e With hop s th t hid th ms lv s in fears,
He e told of arms, an d f atly deeds, e e o n e Wh r at leaps t he while he reads, ’ ’ An d s aid he d be no more a clown ,
e er e re Whil oth s drew t h b ath of battle .
T he e e h m n d moth r look d i up a down,
a e a a a a r And l ugh d sc nt l ugh with attle .
She e n told him wh at sh fou d to tell,
Le d e And vi listened , an h ard well Some admonitions of a voice
a e e r e Th t l ft him no caus to joice .
He s a r e n o ought f i nd , a d f und t he stars, And pr aye d aloud that they s hould aid him; e But th y said not a wor d of wars, Or a r of eason why God m ade him . THE GOLDEN TREASURY
’ And who s of this or that estate W e do not wholly calculate, When baffling sh ades that s hift an d cling Are not without their glimmering;
e Wh n even Levi, t ired of faith ,
e e e r B lov d of non , fo got by m any,
D s e s n er r i miss d a a inf io wraith, R n eborn may be as great as a y . The Outlook Edwin Ar lin gton Robin s on
Fight
h a o a r a a r h T e T le f Gun n e t Pl tts bu g , 1 81 4
OCK bit his mittens off an d blew his thumbs ; He scr aped t he fresh s leet from t he frozen s ign
e MEN WANT ED VOLU NT EERS . Like gusts of brin He whiffed deliriums Of sound t he droning roar of rolling rolling d rums
fi ee e e And shr illing fes , like n dl s in his spin ,
- n e And drank , blood bright from sunrise a d wild shor ,
T he wine of war .
With ears an d eyes he d rank an d dizzy brain d T e e T ill all t he s now d anced re . h littl sh acks
1 In h e n av a ba e o f P a s bur h the American co mman der t l ttl l tt g , cd n u h h el w rk d l ke a co mm n s a o in o n in Ma o o g ims f o e i o il r, p i t g W h l d n v r to h i l n v . s an d h an d i g a fa o rite g un i e ben i g o e ig t t, a d u in tw t n k o o wh ch ell o n his h ead an d ro un s ho t c t o he s pa er b m, i f str uc k him sen seless fo r two o r th ree min utes ; he then le aped to his fee an d co n tmued as befo re when a s hot took o the head o the t , f f capta in of the gun crew an d drove it in his face with s uch force as to ” “ k him r s i Fro T he N av a W o n ock to the othe de of the deck . m l ar f b T h eo do re Ro o y sevelt . 1 86
T HE GOLDEN TREASURY
’ ’
in e c . They re muster on th ommon now I kn ow, She n odded feebly; then with sharp surmis e S he raised her eyes :
r s n She raised he eye , a d pou red the1r light on him e Who tower d glowing there bright lips ap art,
Cap o ff, an d brown hair tous led . With quick smart She felt t he room turn dim e r f r And seemed she h a d , a off, a sound of cherubim S s oothing the udden pain a bout her heart . How many a lonely hour of after-woe She saw him so !
” Jock ! And once more the white lips murmured Jo ck ! Her fingers slipped ; the spilling teacup fell
And shattered , t inkling but broke not the spell .
His he art began to knock,
Jangling the hollow rhyt hm of th e ticking clo ck . “ ’ ” “ n n n Mother, it s fig ht, a d me are wa tedl Well, ’ ’ Ah well, it s men may kill us women s joys, ’ ” It s men not bo ys !
“ ’ I m seventeen ! I guess th at seventeen ’ L e ! - - My little Jock ! ittl I m six foot one .
e . o u s w m ! Scorn twitch d his lip ) Y a e, how I skun ’ ' T he town l ast H allowe en n At wraS tli !Now t he mother shifted tack . ) Jean ? ’ ’ ” You won t be leav in j ea n ? I guess a gun ’ ”
r e n e . Won t rattle he . He l augh d, a d turn d his head
!
His face grew red . OF MAGAZINE VERSE
’ But if it does a g al don t understand ’ “ ’ It s fight ! Jock, bo y , your pa can t last much more, ’ ” And who s to mind the stock to milk an d cho re ?
Jock frown ed an d gn awed his h and . . ’ he o Mother, it s men must mind t stock our own b rn
land ,
And lick the invaders . Slowly in the door “ - n a ! Stubbed the old , worn out ma . Wom n , let be It ’ s liberty
’ ’ - It s struck him like fork lightnin in a pine .
- I felt it, too, like th at in seventy six ; ’ ’ ’ ’ n n And now, if t wa n t for cree pi pains a d cricks ’ n e le 0 e And this o g min , ’ n I d holler young Jerusalem like him , a d 31m ’ The fight ; but fight don t come from burnt- out wicks ; ” “ ” “ r a It co mes f om fire . Mebbe, she s id , it comes
From fifes an d drums .
’ d ll he s Da , a t boy are down from t he b ack hills . ’ ’ ’ The common s cacklin like hell s cocks an d hens ; ’ There s swords an d muskets stacked in the cow- pens And kn apsacks in the mills ;
sa e N x Re a They y at Isl aux oi dco ts are holding drills, ’ An d t e ee V r we to build a big fl t at e gennes . ’ ” “ ’ Dad, can t I go ? I reckon you re a man
Of course you can .
“ ’ ’ ” r I ll do the chores to home, you do em tha ! ” Dad! T he men gripped hands an d gazed upo n r The mothe , when the door flew wide . There shone e A young fac like a star , T HE GOLDEN TREASURY
’ - A gleam of bitter sweet gainst snowy is lands far,
A freshness, like the scent of cinn amon,
T ingeing t he air with ardor an d bright sheen . Jock faltered Jean !
’ e r r ? rea e all Jock, don t you h a the d ums I d m d night ’
n d e e me a ar . I heard em, a th y wok in bl ck d k ’ ’ ’ ’ ear em? ar ! Quick, ain t you comin ? Can t you h H k
- T h e men folks are to fight . ” I wis h I was a man ! Jock felt his th roat clutch tight . ” Men - folks ! It lit his s pir it like a s park
Flashing t h e pent gunpowder of his p r ide . “ ” Come on ! he cried .
Here wait ! T he old man s tumped to the back wall ’ “ ’ Y ll a An d h anded down his musket . o u w n t this ; ’ ’
n e re a er an d m . A d mind wh at gam you ft , don t iss ’ Good - by : I guess th at s all n m a an d et s Fo r o w . Co e b ck g your dud Jock, loom ing tall
e e Beside his glowing sw etheart, stoo p d to kiss
s T he little s hrunken mother . T iptoe s he ro e
And clutched him close .
In both her tw isted h ands s he held his head Clutched in t he wild remembran ce of dim years
e e e e rs A baby h ad , suckling, h alf d w d with t a ; A tired boy abed By candlelight; a l aughing face beside the red Log- fire ; a shock of curls beneath h er s hears
. e T he bright h air falling Ah, s he tri d to smother “ Her wild thoughts Mother ! ego
THE GOLDEN TREASURY
Gently - s he l aid him in the sun an d dried T he e b littl dripping ody . Suddenly Rose- ted gleamed through t he budding apple tree “ An d Look ! a letter ! cried “ A a e n d l ughing voic , a lots of news fo r us inside ! “ ’ e ? How s th at, J an News from Joc k ! Where where ” is he ? — 1n Ver e - ! Ah n o ! Down g nnes the ship yards . Ships , ’ ” It can t be so .
’ ’ He s an d be r goin to fight with guns a t a . ’ See he ere : s r e e . s w h w ot hims lf T he po t as late . ’ He n could t write before . T he s hip is great ! ’ ’ S e s buil e h t , from k el to sp ar, ’ An d c alled the S a r atoga ; an d Jock s got a scar “ ” r a r ? er Al e dy Sca the moth qu aver ed Wait, ” “
ea e le . J n rippl d , t me read Quick, then, my dear, ’ He ll want t o hear
’ ’ Jock s pa : I guess we ll fin d him in the yard . ’ ’ He s r e c in e e D n ! ain t ca c reep round th s d ays, poor a ’ n She gripped Jean s arm an d s tumbled as they ra ,
e e i r . And stopp d onc , breath ng h a d Around them chimney- swallows skimmed the sheep cropped sward
An d e e man yellow horn ts hummed . T h sick old
rre e r e n Sti d at th i st ps, a d muttered from deep muse “ ? ” Well, ma ; wh at news
’ From Jo ckie there s a letter ! In his ch air “ ’ ” he s a ? T he bowed form s at bolt upright . Wh at s y “ ’ ’ He s wrote to Jean . I gues s it s boys their way ’ To think old folks don t care OF MAGAZINE VERSE
l ' ‘ a . For etters . Girl, re d out Jean smoothed her Wilding hair
And s at beside them . Out of the blue day A golden robin called ; across the road A heifer lowed ;
’ An d old ears listened while youth read : Friend Jean, ’ ’ Ver gennes : here s where we ve played a Yankee trick . ’ ’ I m layin in my bunk by Otter Crick ’ And scribblin you this mean ’ Scrawl for to tell t he news what - all I v e heerd an d seen ’ n Jennie, we ve built a ship, a d built her slick
s e e r A wan ! a s ven hundr d forty tonne , ’ And I m first gunner .
’ You ought to seen us l aunch her t other day ! ’ T ell dad we ve christened her for a fight of hisn
s e ! He fought at Saratoga . Now just li t n ’ s She s twice a big, folks s ay , ’ As Perry s ship th at took t he priz e at Pu t- in Bay ; o Yet forty d ays ag , hull, m asts an d mizz en , ’ T e w w n h whole of her as g ro i , live an d limber, ’ In God s green timber .
- I helped to fell her main mast back in March .
T he s e- e w woods was nowed kne deep . Sh as a wonder ’ r e e A st aight white pine . Sh f ll like roarin thunder And left a blue- sky arch ’ ’ o h r ll kin dlin s a Ab ve e , bustin a to a t ll larch . Mebbe the scart j ack- rabbits s kun from unde r ! n n e Us bo ys hoorayed , a d me a d ev ry noodle Yelled Yan kee- Doo dle ! THE GOLDEN TREASURY
’ ’ - My, how W e h aw d an d gee d the big o x sledges ’ H lin r r e au he long trunk th ough th hemlock dells, ’ - l - e s A bel erin to t he t inkle tankl bell , And blunted our ax edges ’ ’ c Hackin n ew road s of i e longside t he rocky ledges .
s c e W e talled h er twi e, but gav t he oxen s pells ’ An d yanked her th rough at last on t h e home- clearin ’ ’ ’ L w in ord , wa n t e cheer !
’ v e Since then I seen her born, as you might s ay ’ ’ n d e s Born out of fire an d water a m n s weat in , ’ ’ Blast- fu rn ace rair in an d red anvils fret t in
s n d d And sawmill , night a ay , ’ ’ ’ Screech-o wlin like t was Satan s rumho use run away ’ ’ ’ fo r Smellin of t ar an d pitch . But I m gettin ’ T he man th at s pr imed her guns an d p aid h er score
T he Commodore .
’ er s r n d Macdo n o ug h he s h m a te , a s he knows ’
e w . His voic , like he as talkin to his hound ’ ’ T here ain t a man of her but ruther d drown T h an tread upon his toes ; ’ d c s n d win lin e e An d y et with his re heek a t k yes , a ros ’ ’
e e be . e he s Ain t fr i ndli r th an his looks Wh n round , ’ He m akes you feel like yo t e a gentlem an
Amer ican .
’ ’ But I must tell you how we re hidin here .
e o - e This Ott r Crick is like a cro k n ck jug, ’ T e Re c a And we re insid e . h d o ts want to plug
n d r o ur e T he mouth , a co k b er ; So last week Downie s ailed his B ritish lake fleet near ¢ 94
THE GOLDEN TREASURY
Plattsburgh an d win dless beauty on the bay ; Autumn al morning an d t he sun at seven Southwar d a wedge of wild ducks in the heaven n far a a Dwindles, a d w y
Dim mountains watch the lake, where lurking prey
e r e er n d Lie, with th i muzz l d thund s a pent levin ,
w r- a e r The a ships E gl , Preble, Sa at oga, r Ticonde oga .
And n ow a little wind fromthe northwest lu t s he e F t er t tr mbling blue with snowy flec ks . ’ r cdo n o u h s e A gun n e , on Ma g s il nt decks, ’ Peers from his cannon s rest, r e l w Sta ing b yond the o north headland . Crest crest ’ e r e - - B hind g e n spruce tops, soft as wild fowls necks, Glide the brig ht spars an d m asts an d whitened wales
Of bellying sails .
h e i 1 - s Rounding, t Br t s h l ake bird loom in view, Rufllin g their wings in silvery arrogance : F an d r Co n n Chubb, Linnet, inch , lo dly fia ce ’ Leading with Downie s crew
s T he line . With long booms wung to starbo ard
heave to, Whistling their flock of galleys who advance
ar he e Be hind , then tow d t Yank es, four abreast,
r . Tack l andwa d , west OF MAGAZINE VERSE
Landward the watching townsfolk S trew the shore; Mist- b anks of human beings blur t he bluffs a ms An d blacken the roofs, like sw r of roosting choughs . ’ Waiting the cannon s roar A nation holds its breath for knell of Nevermore Or pea! of life : this hour s h all cast the sloughs ’ Of generations an d one old d ame s joy :
Her gunner boy .
One moment on the qu arter deck Jock kn eels es o r n d B ide his C mmodo e a fighting squ ad .
a are e r ra er o Their he ds bowed , th i p y s g up toward God
T owar d God, to whom appeals Still rise in pain an d mangling wrath from blind ordeals ’ e Of man , still bo astful of his broth r s blood .
n e They stand from prayer. Swift comes a d sil ntly
The enemy.
n o n e Macdo ugh holds his me , alert, d vout “ He th at wavereth is like a wave of the sea
e he Dr iven with the wind . B hold t ships, th at be
So great, are turned about ” Even with a little helm . Jock tightens the blue clout n d e a a Around his waist, a watch s c su lly
- - Close by a game cbck , in a coop, who stirs
And spreads his spurs .
- Now, bristling near, t he British war birds swoop
s n Wing , a d the Yankee Eagle screams in fire ;
er a The English Linnet answ s, iming higher, ’ And cras h along Jock s poop ’ e - Her hurtling shot of iron crackl s the game cock s coop, T HE GOLDEN T REASURY
! w e Where, lo the ribald cock, like a to n cri r n i Strutting a g u sl de, fl aps to the cheering crew
n Boys yell, a d yapping l aughter fills t he roar ’ ’ ” “ ’ be e m! re e c You t w ll do e You a proph t , o cky ! ” ”
ra r r ! ! e o ckie . Hoo y, old oost e Hip, hip, hip cri s J Calmly t h e Commodore ’ - T ouches his cannon s fuse an d fires a twenty four . “ ’ ’ e z z ! a s e e Smoke b lches bl ack . Hu a Th t blow d m ” po ck ey ! ’ D en e e he And ownie s m , like pin s b for t bowling,
F s e - all catt r rolling .
B oom! s h e . fl a h the long guns , echoed by t e gall ys
T he Co n fian ce - affl e b , wind b ed in t h ay
he r - r With both r po t bow anchors to n away,
Fl e es utt rs , but proudly ralli
” - b h n h a e . T o fo ads ide, while er gunboats ra g e t e w t r alleys
do n h he T hen Downie grips Mac o ug in t fray, An d double- shotted from his roaring fl ail
Hur ls t he bl ack h ail .
b . T he h ail tu rns red, an d d rips in t he h t gloo m Jock snuffs t he reek an d spits it from his mouth
An d grapples with gre at winds . T he winds blow sout h , An d scent of lilac bloom ’ Ste als from his mother s porch in his still s leeping roo m . Lilacs ! But n o w it stinks of blood an d d routh !
s n d res at He stagger up , a sta blinding light : “ ” God ! T his is fig h t l
THE GOLDEN TREASURY
Various, by in finite invention bred , In His own image moulding beautiful
T he hum an skull .
Jo ck lifts his head ; Macdo n o ugh sights his gun fac a To fire but in his g a b ll of flesh,
A whizz in g clod , h as hurled him in a mesh n Of tangled rope a d tun , While still a bout t he d eck the lubber clod is spun An d e e , bouncing from t h r ail , lies in a pl sh e e Of ooz ing blood , upstaring ey less, r d A ’ gunner s head .
A bove the ships, enormous from the l ake, R e n d is s a wraith a ph antom dim a gory, Lifting her wondrous limbs of smoke an d glory; An d little child ren quake
And lordly n ations bow their fore heads fo r her sake, And bards procl aim her in their fiery story;
d her An in ph antom breast, heartless unheeding,
Heart s hearts are bleeding .
n Macdo n o ugh lies with Downiein o e l and .
n d e a o Victor a vanquish d long g were peers .
e n Held in t he gr ip of p ace a hundred years, England h as laid her h and n d we a e an d In ou rs, a h ve h ld ! still sh all hold) Th at m akes us brothers of the hemispheres ;
Yea, still sh all keep the lasting brotherhood w Of la an d blood . OF MAGAZINE VERSE
Yet one who se ter ror racked us lon g of yore Still wreaks upon the world her lawless might Out of t he d eeps again the phantom Fight
w ar Looms on her wings of ,
d e er e Sowing in arin ed camps an fi lds h v nomed spore, ’ ’ a a Embattling mon arch s whim ag inst m n s r ight, T rampling with iron hoofs the blo oms of time
Back in the slime .
We, who from dreams of justice, d early wrought,
First rose in t he eyes of patient Washington , And through the molten heart of Lincoln won
T o libert y forgot, ’ e Now, st anding lone in peac , mid titans strange dis
t raught , ’ Pray much for patience, more God s will be done ! For vision an d fo r power nobly to see
The world m ade free . The Outlook P ercy MacKaye
The Horse Thief
E RE he moved, cropping the grass at the purple ’ canyon s lip . His m ane w as mixed with t he moonlight th at silvered
- his snow white sid e, For the moon sailed out of a cloud with t he wake of a
e r sp ct al ship, an d I crouched I crawled on my belly, my lariat coil
looped wide . THE GOLDEN TREASURY
' n d ar t hé as o Dimly a d k mes br ke on the starry sky .
r e A pall covered every color of their go g ous glory at noo n . ’ d e n d I smelt the yucca an m squite, a stifled my heart s
quick cry, An d wormed an d crawled on my belly to where he moved against the moon !
w ’ Some Moorish barb as th at mustang s sire . His lines
were beyond all wonder . From t he prick of his ears to t he flow of his tail he ach ed
in my th roat an d eyes . n Steel a d velvet grace ! As the prophet s ays, God h ad “ ” clothed his neck with thund er .
he r he s Oh , m arvelous with t d ifting cloud drifted acros the skies !
w s e r e d An d then I a n a at h and , crouch d an bal anced , an d cast the coil ;
o w s e r n d r An d the mo n as moth ed in cloud , a the ope th rough my h and s with a rip ! n d But some how I gripped a clung, with the blood in my
brain aboil, With a tu rn round the rugged tree- stump there on t he ’ purple canyon s lip .
red e e r Right into t he stars he reared aloft, his y olling
n d a raging . n d e He whirled an d sun fis hed an d las hed , a rock d the
earth to thunder an d fl ame . w as a He squealed like a regular devil horse . I h ggard an d spent an d aging
S e oo Roped clean , but almost torming cl ar, his fury t
fierce to tame .
20 2
T HE GOLDEN T REASURY
But I heard a monstrous booming like a thun der of flap ping sails al ! h e When he spread well, c l me a liar when ! spread those wings, those wings
e e - n d So white th at my eyes w r blinded , thick feathered a
wide unfurled ,
e i w . W e n d he T hey beat t h a r into billo s sailed , a t
eart h was gone .
n e er n d e e e the r Can yon a d d s t a mesa with r d b low, with wo ld . An d then I knew th at mustang; for I w as Bel lero pho n !
d e Yes , glad as the Greek, an mounted on a hors of the
elder gods, With never a m agic bridle or a founta in- mirror nigh ! ’ My chaps an d s purs an d hols ter mus t have looked it? Wh at s the odds ? ’ n d er ree I d a leg over lightning a thund , ca ring across the sky !
r r m An d forever st eaming befo e me, fanning y forehead coo l, Flowed a m ane of molten silver; an d just before my thighs
e - !As I gr ipped his v lvet muscled ribs, while I cursed my
e s lf for a fool) , ‘ — T he steady pulse of those pinions th eir wond erful fall an d rise !
T h e band ann a I bought in Bowie blew loose an d whipped
from my neck . My shirt was stuck to my sh oulders an d ribboning out
behind . 20 4 OF MAGAZINE VERSE
e n ee an d The stars w re d anci g, wh ling glancing, dipping
with smirk an d beck .
T e d wm . he clouds w re flowing, dusking an g lo g W e
rode a roaring wind .
We soared through t he silver starlight to knock at t he ’ planets gates . New shimmering cons tellations c ame ‘ whirlmg 1nto o ur
k en .
Red stars an d green an d golden swung out of t h e void th at waits ’ ' For m an s great last adv en ture ; t heSigns to ok sh ape an d then
I knew the lines of th at Centaur the moment I s aw him come ! T he musical- bo x of the heavens all around us rolled to a tune T h at tinkled an d chimed an d trilled with silver sounds
th at s truck you dumb, As if some arch angel were grinding out the music of
t h e mo on .
- r s e n d Melody d unk on the Milky W ay , a we sw pt a soared
hilarious ,
h e — he e a r Full in o ur pathway, sudden stood t C nt u
of t he Stars , Flashin g from h ead an d hoofs an d breast ! I knew him
fo r Sagittarius .
n d . He e He reared , a bent an d drew his bow crouch d
as a boxer spars . THE GOLDEN TREASURY
Flung back on his h aunches, weird he loomed then ea an d he l pt t dim void lightened .
s e an d er e Old White Wing shi d sw v d aside, and fled
- from t he splendor shod .
a a e er r Through fl shing w lt of wo lds we ch arged . I knew
r e was e e why my ho s fright n d . ’ ’ He had two faces a dog s an d a m an s th at Baby lo n ian god !
he s ! Also, followed us real a fear . Ping went an arrow
past .
r - e My b onco buck jump d , humping high . We plunged ’ I guess th at s all! ’ a e e I l y on t h pur pl canyon s lip, when I Opened my eyes at las t
ff n d s re n d e e Sti a o a my h ad lik a d rum , but I broke no
e bones in t h fall .
So you know an d now you may string me up . Such
w as t he w ay you caught me . T h ank you fo r letting me tell it straight, though you
never could greatly care . ’ ’ For I took a horse th at w as n t mine ! But there s
o n e he e e t h av ns brought me, ’ l is And I l h ang right h appy, because I know he wait
ing for me up th ere .
’ - From creamy muzz le to cannon bone, by he s a peerless wonder ! ’ H n - e s e is steel a d velvet an d furn ace fire, d ath supremest prize;
20 6
T HE GOLDEN TREASURY
l ce But si en , inch by inch , is there,
An d the right ' limb for a lynch is there; d w Arid alean a waits for bot h your eyes,
Blackbird .
’ Per h aps yo u ll meet again some plaé e . Look fo r the m ask upon th e face ; ’ ’ Th at s t he W ay you ll know them there
A white m ask to hide the face . And you can h alt an d show them there
T he a e e things th t th y are d af to now, An d they can tell you wh at they meant
T o wash the blood with blood . But how If you are innocent ?
r Blackbird s inge , blackbird mute,
T hey choked the seed you might h ave found. Out of a thorny field you go Fo r you it may be better so An d leave t he sowers of t he ground
s e To eat t he h arve t of t h fruit,
Blackbird . P oetry A Magazin e of Vers e Torren ce
I
The Tr umpet- v in e Ar bor
HE throats of t h e little red trumpet- flo wers are wide
Open ,
An d t he clangor of brass beats against t he hot sunlight .
T hey bray an d blare at the burning sky .
20 8 OF MAGAZINE VERSE
ed Red! Red ! Co arse notes of r ,
Trumpeted at t he blue sky . e In long streaks of sound , molt n metal,
T he vine declares itself. Clang ! from its red an d yellow trumpets ; r Clang ! from its long, n as al t umpets, n Splitting t he s unlight into ribbons, tattered a d shot with
noise .
r r e n d w . I sit in t he cool arbo , in a g e n a gold t ilight
e o r r t he r It is v ry still, f I cannot hea t umpets, n d e I only know that they are red a op n ,
r es An d th at t he sun above the arbo sh ak with heat .
My quill is newly mended ,
- An d makes fin e drawn lines with its point .
D t es e n own he long white paper it m ak littl li es,
- Just lines up down crrss cross . My heart is strained out at the pin- point of my quill ;
is n d n It thin a writhing like t he m arks of the pe .
My h and m arches to a squeaky tune,
ar e e e It m ch s down the pap r to a squ aling of fifes .
en n d e e - fl w rs My p a t h trump t o e , ’ An d Washin gton s armies away over t he smoke- tree to
t he southwest . ” ee D e n Yank oodl , my d arli g ! It is you against t he
British, M arching in you r ragged shoes to batter down King
George .
a a e h at ? No t e r Wh t h v you got in your a f athe , I wager .
a h a - ra ar e are Just y st w, for it is the h v st you fighting for . Ha r n d y in you h at , a the whites of their eyes for a target !
L r two ear a o ike Bunke Hill, y s g , when I watched all day e from t he hous top , T HE GOLDEN TREASURY
’ - Through Father s spy glass,
e r T he red city, an d the blu , b ight water, And puffs of smoke which you made
Twenty miles away, e Round by Cambridge, or over the N ck, But the s moke was white white ! T o - day the trumpet- flowers are red red An d I cannot see you fighting;
D as fled But old Mr . imond h to Can ad a, “ ” n ee Do t her And Myra si gs Yank odle a milking .
T he red throats of the trumpets bray an d clang in the
sunshine,
he - ree uff t he i And t smoke t p s dun blossoms into blue a r .
The City of Falling Leav es
Leaves fall,
Brown leaves, r Yellow leaves streaked with b own .
T h ey fall, F lutter,
Fall again .
T he brown leaves,
h e And t e str aked yellow leaves , Loosen on their branches
An d drift slowly downwards .
On e,
e On , two, th ree, On e , two, five .
2 1 0
THE GOLDEN TREASURY
His yellow turban an d black skin
Are gorgeous barbaric . The yellow satin dress with its silver flashin gs r Lies on a chai , e n a B side a black m antle a d black m ask .
Yellow an d black,
Gorgeous bar baric .
T he lady reads her letter, An d the leaves dr ift s lowly
Past the lon g windows .
How silly you look, my dear Abate, With th at great brown le af in your
o e Pluck it ff, I b g you , d Or I sh all ie of laughing .
A yellow wall, Afl e ar in the sunlight, Chequered with s h adows
- Sh adows of vine leaves ,
Sh adows of m as ks .
r n M asks coming, p inti g themselves for an in stan t,
Then passing on ,
More m asks always replacing them . M as ks with tricorns an d rapiers sticking out behin d n Pursuing m as ks with veils a d high heels,
T he s unlight shining under their insteps .
On e,
e On , two,
One, two , three,
There is a th ronging of sh adows on t he hot wall,
Filig reed at t he t0 p wi th moving leaves . e Y llow sunlight an d black shadows,
Z I Z OF MAGAZ INE VERSE
Yellow an d black,
Gorgeous barbaric. T wo m asks stand together, And the shadow of a leaf falls through
M arking the wall where they are not .
- er- From hat tip to should tip,
r - F om elbow to sword hilt,
The leaf falls .
The shadows min gle, r Blu together,
li t he n d S de along wall a disappear.
n Gold of mosaics a d candles,
- And night blackness lurking in the ceiling beams . ’ Sa in t M ark s glitters with flames an d reflections .
A cloak brushes aside, An d the yellow of satin
Licks out over the colored inlays of t he pavement . Under the gold crucifixes There is a meeting of h ands
Reaching from black m antles . e Sighing embraces, bold inv stigations,
Hide in confession a ls,
Sheltered by the shufflin g of feet .
Gorgeous barb aric .
In its m ail of jewels an d gold , ’ Saint M ark s looks down at the swarm of black masks ;
An d outside in t he p alace gardens brown leaves fall,
Flutter,
Fall .
Brown,
An d yellow streaked with brown . THE GOLDEN TREASURY
- Blue black the sky over Venice,
With a pricking of yellow stars .
There is no moon , An d t he waves push d arkly again st the prow
Of t he gondola, Coming from M alamocco An d r st eaming toward Venice .
r e It is black unde th gondola hood , But t he yellow of a satin d ress
are e t he e e Gl s out lik y of a watching tiger.
Yellow compassed about with d arkness,
e n d Y llow a bl ack ,
r e s Go g ou barb aric .
T h s e boatm an ings , It is T as so th at he s ings;
T he e e ea r e e r lov rs se k ch othe b neath th i m antles,
An d e he the gondola d rifts ov r t lagoon, aslan t to the
coming d awn .
But at M alamocco in front,
V e In enic behind ,
Fall the leaves,
B rown ,
An d e y llow streaked with brown .
T hey fall,
Flutter,
Fall . P oetry : A Magazin e of Vers e Amy Lowell
THE GOLDEN TREASURY
Here spoke the law th at voice of bronze w as heard
t e r n d By all h wo ld , a stirred
T e e s h lat nt mind of n ation in the bud .
Bright with t he l au rels , bitter with t he blo od Of heroes upon h eroes w as this place Where the strong hear t of an imperial race ’ e B at with t he essence of a n ation s life . Princes an d people evermore at s trife Incen s e an d worship clas h of armored rage Ambition soaring up t he sky like fl ame Intermin able w ar th at mortals wage r e e e F om c ntury to c ntury the sam . Still Fortune holds the crown for those who d are; M ankind in m any a distant otherwhere Leaps p anting toward the promise of her face
But here, no more of coveting n o r care . No longer he re the weltering hum an tide Sluices the m arket- place an d scatters wide
s The weak a foam , to perish where they list .
e e Now by the Sov reign Silence pu rifi d ,
er r r e Spr ing show s all with f ag ant am thyst . Were once these pulses violent an d swift As those th at s h ake the cities of to- day ? How indolently sweet t he petals drift From yonder nodding spray !
e e t e n Warming their broider d raim nt in h s u , T he little bright- eyed lizards bask an d run ’ O er fallen temples gr acious in decay . ’ M an s arrogance with calculated art Boasted in m ar ble now t h e quiet heart Of t he Great Moth er dreams etern al things e In brief br ight roses an d ethere al gr en , ar6 OF MAGAZINE VERSE
e e Or mor exub rant, sings In poppies poured profusely to the air
From secret hoards of scarlet . Nothing seen But swoons with beauty beauty everywhere
Nothing but beauty now .
Here is the immor tality of Rome .
s e e e Not where t he city ri s , dom on dom ,
Seek we the living soul of ancient might, But in this temple of green silence here
Flame purer th an the vestal is alight . The world again draws near e e In r v rence, but now it comes to pay T e h tribute of a nobler coin th an fear . e In wond ring worship, not in fierce dism ay, Men bow t he knee to wha t of Rome rem ain s . ’ e Tim s long lustration h as effaced her stains . All th at is per ish able n o w is p ast An d earth her portion tenderly transmutes
es To evan cent beauty of her o wn , Jubilant flowers an d nectar- breathing fruits Living in deathless glory at the last
Divinity alone . The B ellman Amelia j os ephin e B urr
The S in Eater
’ ARK ye ! Hush y e ! M argot s dead ! ’ Hush ! H ave don e wi you r brawling tune ! s e Danced , h did , till t he stars grewp ale ; ’ ’ ’ 0 e Mother God , an sh s gone at noon ! 2 17 THE GOLDEN TREASURY
’ ’ Sh- h d ye hea r me ? M argot s dead ! ’ ’ Sickened an d rooped an died in an hour ! ’ ’ ’ ’ e an t h n e ! B ring m th milk meat a br ad . )
e s he e a e r . Droop d , did , lik wilt d flowe ’ e e es Come an lo ok at h r, how s h li , ’ ’
e n d e e e . Little an lon , a lik sh s scar d
! She lost her beads last Fr id ay week, ’
e e n e e er e . Tor h r Book, a s h n v car d ) ’ e Eh , my lass, but it s wint r, now e You th at ever was meant fo r Jun , ’ Your laughing mouth an you r d ancing feet ’ ’ n An now you re done, like a ended tune . ’ ? e W here s that wom an Ah , give it m quick, ’ F her e n . oo d at her head a poor , still f et ’ ’ r ! D e t he The e s plenty , fool y think wench Had s o in an y s in s fo r himself to eat ? ’ n Take up your cloak a h and me mine . ’ ? E fo re Are we fetchin him h , r su ! ’ ’ l An you ll come with me fo r a l your qu akes, Cle ar to his cave across the mo or ! ’ r e so are M argot, dea i , don t look sc d , ’ It s no long while till your peace begins ! r a ? Wh a t if you tore your Book, poo l mb ’ ’ I m bringin you one will eat your sins !
’ ’ ’ - It s a blood red sun th at s sinkin . ’ e ars a rear ! Oho oo , but t h m hl nd s d ’ be s hr in kin ? Wom an , fo r why will you ’ ’ ’ e I m tellin you there s nought to f ar. ’ Wh at if t he twilight s glo o mis h ’ ’ ’ An t h sh adows creep an crawl ?
2 1 8
THE GOLDEN TREASURY
Ey e Witness
OW N by the railroad in a gr een valley
r e e s e By d ancing wate , ther h t ayed awhil
n d ree n Singing, a t h me with him , listen ers ,
ll e e re ers e All tramps, a hom l ss a p of t h wind , Motionles s now an d while t he song went on T r an sfig ured into m ages thronged with vis ions ; There with t he late light of t he sunset on them And on clear water spinning from a sprin g n d Through litt le cones of sand d ancing a fading, Close bes ide pine woods where a hermit- th r ush
Cast, when love d azz led him , sh adows of music ’ e e r he s er a s e Th at l ngthen d , fluting, th ough t ing s p u s While t he sur e ear th rolled eas tward bringing stars Over t he s inger an d t he men th at lis tened
e ll. There by t he roadside, und rstanding a
e A train went by but nothing s eemed to b changed . Some ey e at a car window mu s t h ave fl ashed
From t he plush world inside the glas sy Pullman ,
o e e Carelessly bearing o ff t he scen e f r v r,
With idle wonder wh at t he men were doing, Seeing they were so strangely fixed an d seeing Torn p apers from their smeary d reary m eal Sp read on t he ground with old tomato cans
e r Muddy with d regs of luk wa m chicory,
Neglected while they lis tened to t he song .
’ d he An while s ang t he singer s face was lifted, An d t he sky shoo k down a soft light upon him
2 20 OF MAGAZINE VERSE
Out of its br anches where like fruits there were e M any beautiful stars an d pl an ts moving,
a s e s r e seas With l nd upon th m , ri ing f om th ir. ,
s e Glorious l and s with glittering ands upon th m ,
e With soils of gold an d magic mould fo r s eding, T he shining loam of l ands afoam with garden s On mightier stars with giant r ain s an d suns There in t he h eavens ; but on non e o f all W as there ground better th an he s tood upon There w as no wor ld there in t he sky above him Deeper in promise th an t he eart h beneath him Whose dus t h ad flowered up in him t he s inger
An d three men understanding every word .
The Tr amp S in gs
' n me ? I will sing, I will go, a d never ask Why
- I was born a rover an d a p asser by .
see e e er d I m to mys lf lik wat an sky,
n - A river a d a rover an d a passer by .
But in the winter three years back
W e us fi e lit a night r by the track,
And t he snow came up an d t he fire it flew ’ we And co uld n t find th e warming room for two .
On e d e e he fi e h a to suff r, so I l ft him t r ’ An d e e e I w nt to t h weather from my h art s desire .
h r It was night on t e line, it was no mo e fire,
But t he z ero whis tle through t he icy wire . 22 I THE GOLDEN TREASURY
As I went suffering through the snow a a a Something like sh dow c me moving slow .
I went up to it an d I s aid a word ; S e flew a e om thing bove it lik a kind of bird .
I leaned in closer an d I s aw a face ; A e r e light w nt ound me but I k pt my place .
My hear t went open like an apple s liced ;
s w Sa n d w I a my viour a I s a my Chr is t .
ma W ell, you y not read it in a book ,
a e a e e a r e a e But it t k s g ntl S viou to giv g ntle look .
I lo oked in his eyes an d I read the news ;
His heart was h aving t he railroad blues .
e r a e Oh , th rail o d blu s will cost you dear, ’ Keeps you moving on for something th at you don t s ee
her e .
W e stood an d whis pered in a kind of moon ;
T he lin e was looking like May an d June .
e w r a e n d a e n I found h as a o m r a journ y ma , he Looking fo r a lodging since t night began .
’ e rs he n a e t e He went to th doo but did t h v h pay , s He went to the window , then he went away .
’ ’ e e fed Says : We ll walk togeth r an d w ll both be , ‘ ’ ” Says : I will give you the other bread .
2 2 2
THE GOLDEN TREASURY
I saw them as if somet hing bound them ;
I stood there but my heart went round them .
I begg ed him n o t to let me see them w asted . “ Says : Tell them then what you h ave tasted .
Told him I was weak as a rained-o n bee ; “
S : e . Told him I was lost . ays L an on me
Some thing h appen ed then I could not tell,
But I knew I h ad t he water fo r every hell .
Any other thing it was no us e bringin g; e They neede d wh at the stars wer singing,
Wh at the whole sky s ang like waves of ligh t,
d n . The tune th at it d anced to, ay a d night
e he e Oh , I listen d to t sky fo r t he tune to com ; e e e T h e song seem d asy, but I s tood ther dumb .
T he star s could feel me reaching through them ; n They let down light a d drew me to them .
he e d I stood in t sky in a light lik ay , Drinking in the words th at all things s ay
Where t he worlds h ang gr owin g in clustered shapes
Dripping t he music like wine from gr apes .
e e e With Lov , Lov , Love, above t h pa in ,
he - e - T vine lik song with its wine like rain . 2 24 OF MAGAZINE VERSE
Through heaven under heaven the song takes roor
r . Of the turning, burning, deathless f uit
I came to the earth an d the p ain so near me, ’ I tried th at song but they could n t hear me .
r I went down into the g ound to grow,
A seed fo r a song that would m ake men know .
’ Into the ground from my Roamer s light
I went ; he watched me sink to night .
Deep in the ground from my human grieving,
His p ain ploughed in me to believing .
’ be r e Oh , he took e art h s pain to his b id ,
While t he hear t of life s ang in his side .
’ its s For I felt t h at p ain , I took kis ,
My heart broke into dust with his .
Then sudden through the earth I found life springing;
e s T he dus t m n trampled on wa singing .
Deep in my dust I felt its ton es ;
o s e e r The ro t of b auty w nt ound my bones .
e I stirr d , I rose like a fl am e, like a river,
he e o r e I stood on t lin , I could sing f ver .
d e e Love ha pierc d into my human sh athing,
e s e s Song came out of m impl a breathing . THE GOLDEN TREASURY
r . A freight came by, the line g ew colder e He laid his h and upon my should r .
’ Says, Don t stay on the line such nights,
An d led me by the h and to the station lights .
I asked him in front of t he station- house wall “ ”
S : e at all. If he h ad lodging . ays Non
I pointed to my heart an d looked in his face . ’ ”
e n a e er a e . Here, if you h av t got b tt pl c
we s He looked an d he s aid : Oh, till must roam ’ ’ ‘
e e . But if you ll keep it op n , w ll, I ll call it home
T he thrush now s lept whose pillow was his wing . 80 the song ended an d the four rem ained
Still in t he faint s tarshine th at s ilvered them, While the low sound went on of broken water Out of t he spring an d th rough t he d ar knes s flowing
Over a s ton e th at held it from t he s ea .
Whether t he men s poke after could not be told ,
e e a e A mist fr om the ground so veil d them , but th y w it d A little longer till t he moon came up ;
e Then on t he gild d tr ack leading to the mountains, Agains t t he moon they faded in common gold
An d ear th bore East with all towar d the n ew morning . ’ S cr ibn er s Magazin e Ridgely Torren ce
THE GOLDEN TREASURY
Perch ance the crude an d common t ongue Would h avoc strangely with his worth ;
But she, with innocence unwrung,
Would read his n ame around the earth .
And ot hers, knowing how this youth r Would s hine, if love could m ake him g eat, When caught an d tortured fo r t he truth Would only writhe an d hesitate ;
e r fo r s While s h , ar anging his d ay
What centu ries could not fulfil, n Transmutes him with her faith a d praise, n w An d has him shi ing where she ill .
er r e She crowns him with h g at fulness, An d s ays again that life is go od ; And should t he gift of God be less
er r o In him th an in h mothe h od ,
a e His fame, though v gu , will not be small,
r r As upward th ough he dream he fares, Half clouded with a crimson fall
Of roses thrown on m ar ble s tairs . ’ S cr ibn er s Magazin e Edwin Arlin gton Robin s on
Meanwhile
HE August sun had s till two hours of sky When the white flag a- flutter from the house Sign alled him in to find his wife at watch ’ He At the boy s bed . laid his calloused h and
Lightly on th at soft face now fever flushed . ” r e Much wo s , s he said .
228 OF MAGAZINE VERSE
' ’ Yes, much worse . I l! ride Jeff
- Cross country, try to borrow a saddle horse ’ At Campbell s . If the doctor is a t home
e - Get ther by one, to night, an d home again
e . In the mo rning, m aybe eight, at most by nin n d His rough lips touched t he boy who moaned a stirred .
The sweating plough- horse ch anged from jolting trot
w e To clumsy gallop, soon as wind ed , f ll
a . B ck to a walk , gained breath an d galloped on ’ At e e e e ee Campb ll s ranch few wor ds . Th y l arn d his n d ,
Saddled the pony, promis ed to relay ’
e o w . T h d ctor s team in t he morning . It as ride When sunset came t he man was galloping e e e On gentle prairie . Soon h dropped from t h ridg , Picking a way down canyon banks to follow In the chill dusk of t he draw a winding mile ;
s k Then stiff ascent an d upland track . The y
A o e er es far ff h ld its tend sunset hu ,
S e s r s low fading . One by one t he big whit ta
n e e r r e Budded a d blos somed . Som tim s p ai i owls
Gave chuckling notes an d m ade dim flutter ing .
e e l e ir T h balm of coo ling dews heal d al t h a , n w n d e e An d r ipeni g grass as fragrant, a lat flow rs, While from the whee ling star s a gentle glow F ell on the prairies like a luminous veil . ’ The vast plain s prayer was answered utterly .
As the dusk gathered in th e little ro om e The woman s till could see the pillow whit , ’ And t he child s tou s led hair in outline d ar k
A He r e r s ee bout his face . b ok f om out his l p Babbling of stran ge wild fancies ; h ardly knew THE GOLDEN TREASURY
At t imes, his n ame, her kindness . Lest the dark
Loose more disorder in his wits , she brought A lighted lamp an d sang old ballad songs
s In a soft voice th at won him ea e again , An d e e he quiet breathings . Sh could h ar t clock
L s n ag noi ily, a d from t he distant draws
T e e e n d se h shrill wail of th coyot , a clo by
T he i - creaking m sery of some cricket thing .
Minutes seemed hou rs . She would t ry to read .
She he e e s . got r Bibl , but t he tears cam fa t T ry praying : su re ly there is help in prayer
T he s r he m n h at t boy hould recove , th at r a
c n Might find t he doctor ready . She a see
As in a living vis ion t he sunshine, ’ T he doctor s rattling buggy racing up
In time .
In time ? Thus pr aying, a slight noise
er e e e . he s w Led h y s to t h door S a it move,
e n d r Op n, a a strange, di ty face looked in
- s r s . B ri tling with thickets of wild , b u h like beard
e How h r hear t did beat ! She did not r ise nor scream , “ e e s But with a fing r at h r lip , s aid , Hu h .
is his ee My boy sick, out of head , ind d,
e i . And must not see you . It might m ak him d e
e e e So l ave us . M ayb you ar hungry . Lo ok
t e n In h cupboard , you will find some b read a d m eat, ”
h s . n e . And coffee on t e tove Go, was h a d at “ a e lo w T e n C m a h ank y , a d t he door went shut . he S tu rned to where t he clock h ands pointed ten .
T ere es e h would be minut whil t he tramp would eat, This outcast fifty miles from the grading camps 230
THE GOLDEN TREASURY .
r not La G ieve , dies
H, grieve not, Ladies, if at night
Ye wake to feel you r bea uty goin g .
It w as a web of frail delight,
Inconstant as an Ap ril s nowing.
s In other eyes, in other land ,
s In deep fair po ol , new beauty lingers, But like spent water in you r hands
It runs from your reluctant fingers .
Ye sh all not keep t he s inging lark
T h at owes to earlier skies its duty . Weep not to hear along t he d ark
The sound of your d epartin g beauty .
The fin e an d anguished ear of night
s Is tuned to hear the sm alle t sorrow. he ! Oh , wait until t morning light It may not seem so gone to- morrow !
But honey- p ale an d rosy- red ! Brief lights th at m ade a little shining ! Beautiful lo oks a bo ut us s hed
T hey leave us to t he old repining .
Think n ot the watchful dim d esp air
s - e ! Has come to you the first, weet heart d ’ r e e ! Fo oh , t he gold in H l n s h air An d ho w s he cried when t hat departe d ! OF MAGAZINE VERSE
Perhaps that one that took the most,
The swiftest bo rrower, wilde st spender, M ay count, as we would not, the cost n An d grow more true to us a d tender .
H appy are we if in his eyes
We see no s hadow of forgetting . Nay if our star sinks in those skies
We sh all not wholly see its setting .
Then let us laugh as do t he brooks
That such immortal youth is ours, If memory keeps for them our looks
- e As fresh as are the spring time flow rs .
Oh, grieve not, Ladies, if at night
Ye wake, to feel the cold December ! Rather recall the ear ly light ’
r . And in you loved one s arms, remember The Atlan tic Mon thly An n a Hempstead B r an ch
Cool Tombs
HEN Abrah am Lincoln was shoveled mmthe tombs he t he a s an d a forgot copperhe d the ssassin . in
1n . the dust, the cool tombs
And Ulysses Grant lost all thought of con men an d n d Wall Street, cash a collateral turned ashes in the he dust, in t cool tombs .
’ Poca hontas body, lovely as a poplar, sweet as a red
w N r w- w e ha in ovember o a pa pa in May , did she wond r , ? does she remember in the dust, in the cool tombs ? 233 THE GOLDEN TREASURY
Take an y streetful of people buying clothes an d grocer e n ies, cheering a hero o r th rowing conf tti a d blowing t 1n horns tell me if t he lovers are losers tell me if an y g et more th an lovers in the dust in the
cool tombs . The Cr afts man Carl S andburg
86 Memories of W hitman an d Lincoln
l ’ ” — h i t th oor d bloo d . W en l acs las in e d y ar m . W . W
ILACS sh all blo om fo r Walt Whi tm an
And lilacs fo r Abr a h am Lincoln . Spring h angs in t he dew of t he do oryard s T hese m emories these m emories They h ang in t he dew fo r t he b ard who fetched A s prig of them once fo r his b rother e l Wh n he ay cold an d dead . And forever now when Amer ica leans in the do oryard
And over t he hills Spring d ances , Sm ell of lilacs an d s ight of lilacs shall bring to her heart thes e brothers Lilacs s h all bloom fo r Walt Whitm an
An d s fo lilac r Abrah am Lincoln .
Who are the sh adow- forms crowding the the night ? Wh at sh adows of men ? T he still s tar- night is high with these broo din g spirits
- n e T heir s houlders rise on t he Earth rim, a d th y are great p resences in heaven 234
THE GOLDEN TREASURY
. r I open lilaci fo the beloved,
Lilacs for the lost, the dead.
r et tr r r l s And, s ee, for the livin g, I b in g s we s awbe y b o s oms ,
A I r t r r t th wood a nd b in g bu te cups , and I b in g o e s n emon es
an d blue bells
r I open lilacs fo the beloved,
r r r r And when my flutte in g ga men t d ifts th ough dus ty cities ,
And blows on hills , and br us hes the in la nd s ea ,
r r r u r d s l Ove y ou, s leepe s , ove y o , ti e eepers , A fragr a n t memory falls
I open love i n the s hut heart, ” o l r I pen ilacs fo the beloved.
Lilacs blo om fo r Walt Whitman An d lilacs for Abrah am Lincoln .
a O e e a W as th at t he Sp ring th at s ng, p ning lock d he rts, An d is remembrance mine ?
Fo r I know these two great sh adows in the spacious night,
Shadows folding America close between them, Close to t he heart An d I know how my own lost youth grew up bles sedly in
their spirit, An d how t he morning song of the mighty n ativ e bard
Sent me out from my d ream s to t he living America,
s he he ra a To the chanting sea , to t piney hills, down t ilro d
vistas, Out into the streets of M anh attan when the whistles blew
e at s ven , Down to the mills of Pittsburgh an d the rude faces of labor OF MAGAZINE VERSE
" V An d I k n ow how the g ra e great music of that Othe r, _
Mus1c m which lost armies s ang requiems, an d And t h e vision of th a t gaunt, tha t great solemn figure,
e e e And t he graven face, the de p y s , the mouth,
- e r 0 human heart d b other, Dedica ted anew my undevoted heart
To America, my land .
Lilacs bloom fo r Walt Whitman
And lil acs for Abra h am Lincoln .
was a e two Now in this hour I suppli nt to thes brothers,
An d I a : a has ee . s id Your l nd n d Half- awakened an d blindly we grope in the great
r wo ld .
Wh at s trength may we take from our Past, what promise hold for our Future ?
And the one brother leaned an d whispered “ e I put my str ngt h in a book, An d in th at bo o k my love .
e This, with my lov , I give to America . An d the other brother leaned an d murmured “ I put my strength in a life, a And , in th t life my love, e e o This, with my lov , I giv t America .
Lilacs bloom for Walt Whitm an
a And lilacs for Abrah m Lincoln .
237 THE GOLDEN TREASURY
Then my heart sang o ut : This strength shall be o ur strength : s n d Yea, when the great hour come , a the sleepers wake
an d are hurled back, An d cree p down into themselves There sh all they find Walt Whitman
An d there, Abrah am Lincoln .
0 Spring, go over this land with much singing
An d open t he lil acs everywhere, Open them out with t he old- time fragrance M aking a people remember th at something has bee n
forgotten , Something is hidden deep strange memories str-ange memories Of him that brought a sp rig of t he purple cluster
T o him th at was mourned of all. And so they are linked together
While y et America lives .
A While y et merica lives, my heart, Lilacs s h all bloom fo r Walt Whitm an f An d lilacs o r Abr ah am Lincoln . The S even Arts j ames Oppen heim
Autochthon
a rude country some fou r thousand miles ’ ’ F r es n e rom Ch a l a d Alfr d s birthplace you were born ,
e ar e n In t h s ame year . But Ch l s a d you were bo rn
t he s a e da an d A re s ix On m y , lf d months later . 238
THE GOLDEN TREASURY
Through h ardships scarcely less than Joliet
And M arquette knew in 1 673, ’ Return on foot to Orfutt s store at Salem .
By this time Jacques Rousseau was canonized ; Jefferson dead but seven years or so ; r m w d B ook Fa r as budding, Garrison ha started
is L b r r H i e ato , Fourier still alive ; An d Emerson was p reening his s lim wings For flights into broad s paces there was s tir E nough to sweep t he Shelleyan heads , in tr uth
Shelley was sca rcely passed a decade then .
o was i ar fo r re Old Go dwin still . wr ting, w s f edom e Sw pt through the Grecian Isles, Ame rica H “ ” ad isms in abund ance, but not o n e T o ok hold of you .
In 1 832 Alfred h as drawn Out of old M allory an d Grecian myths T “ “ he Lady of Shalo t t an d fair ! Enone,
An d put them into verse .
T his is the year you fight the Black Hawk war, ’ An d issue an add ress to Sangamon s people .
- You are but twen ty th ree, y et this add ress ’ Would not sh ame Ch arles o r Alfred ; it s restrained , An d e san ly balanced , without extra words, ’ s e Or youth s conceits, or imit ative figu re , dr ams ” Or e e isms of the day . No , h r you hope
T a e e e h t nt rprise, morality, sobri ty
Ma be e n d s y mor general, a peak a word
Fo r o l popula r education , s th at a l “ Ma e y hav a mod erate education as you s ay . 240 OF MAGAZINE VERSE
n Yo u make a plea for railroads a d can als,
And as k the suffrages of the peo ple, saying Yo u have known disappointment far too much
T e . o be ch agrined at failure, if you los They take you at your word an d send another
To rep resent them in the Legis latu re . ’ Then you decide to learn t he blacksmith s trade .
But Fate comes by an d plucks you by t he sleev e,
An . d ch anges history, doubtless
’ By 36 when Ch arles returns to England You h ave become a legislator ; y es e e You tried again an d won . You h ave b com e e e A lawyer too , by working through t h l v ls
e- n d r e Of la borer, stor kee per a su v yor,
Wrapped up in problems of geo metry, ’ An Ki s r n d ir d rkh am g amm ar a S William Blackstone, An d Coke on Littleton , an d Joseph Chitty . F B rook Farm will so on bloo m forth , rancois Fourier
Is n still on earth , a d Garrison is sh aking
Terrible lightning at Slavocracy . An d l certain libertari ans, vide icet n d John Greenleaf Whittier a others, sing T hetrampling out of gr apes of wrath ; in truth The Hebrews taught the idealist how to sing Destruction in t he n ame of God an d cu rse Where strength was lacking for t he sword but y o u Are not a Robert Emmet, or a Shelley, Have no false d reams of dying to bring m
T h d - e ay of Liberty . At twenty th ree ’ You re measuring the wor ld an d waiting for w ’ Da n s mists to clear th at you may measure it , THE GOLDEN TREASURY
’ An d know the field s dimensions ere y o u put
Your h andle to the plow .
8 In 1 33 a man n amed Hallam , ’ e A - A fri nd of lfred s died at twenty two . Thereafter Alfred worked his hopes an d fears Upon the d ark imp asto of this los s e d In d licate colors . An in 1 850 e er e Wh n you w e sunk in m lancholi a,
As o n e use of no in the world , adjudged T be o of no use by your time an d place,
e Alfred brought forth his Dante d r am of life, Received the lau reate wreath an d settled down With a fair wife amid entrancing richness Of sunny seas an d silken s ails an d dreams
f r O A aby, d n d An ivied h alls, a m eadows where t he breez e
Of temperate England blows the hur rying cloud .
n r e T here, seated like a O i ntal king In silk an d linen clothed took t he accl aim Of England an d the world ! T his is the year
You sit in a little office there in Springfield , e o ? Feet on t h e desk an d bro od . Wh at ar y u thinking ’ You re for ty- o n e ; around you s pears are wh acking
- he a n d e . T he wind mills of t day , you w tch a w igh T he s un - light of you r mind quivers about
T he ar e e e s s d kn ss v ry thinking oul mu t know,
An d lights up hidd en things behind the door,
s An d in d ar k corner . You h ave fathomed much ,
Weigh ed life an d men . 0 wh at a s pheré d brain ,
S r s e fir s t ong nerved , fre h bloo d d , m in pla mic fire, 242
THE GOLDEN TREASURY
Yo u are a m athem atician using symbols e Like Justic , Truth, with keenness to perceive s r e Di tu banc of equ ations, a logician
e a a e a an d ea Who se s inv ri bl l ws, b uty born n d Of finding out a following the laws . Yo u are a at o Pl o br oding there in Sp ringfield . are a e You po t with a voice fo r Truth, An d never to be cl aimed by vision aries
a e n d Who ch nt the them of bread a bread alone .
But here an d now a o n e They w nt y u m for Senator, it se ms . You h ave been tossed to one side by the rush
r e s e r e Of wo ld vent , l ft st and d an d alone,
e use s And fitt d for no , it seem , in Springfield .
a e A country l wy r with a solid logic, And gift of prud ent phrase which h as a way Of h ardening under time to rock as h ard
e r o As the ndu ing thought y u seal it with . ’ a e You ve re ch d your fiftieth year, your occultation
ass . e Should p If ver, we should see a light
all e a ee In your lif you h ve not s n a city .
S r e r e But now our p ingfi ld gi ant st id s Broadway, T hrills William Cullen B ryant , sets a wonder ’ h e E Kir s Going about t ast, th at kham gr amm ar
an m n s e a C give a a uch sp ech t Co oper Union , ’ ’ s Which even Alfred s , trained to Virgil s tyle, Cannot dis d ain fo r m atching in t he thought
With faultles s clearness .
An d still in 1 860 all t he B ra hmins
Have fear to give y o u power . r a You a e backwoodsm an , a country lawyer OF MAGAZINE VERSE
Unlettered in the difli cult art of states .
A denizen of a squ alid western town , e Dowered with a kn ack of argument alon ,
- n d Which wakes the country school house, a may lift
Its devotees to Congress by good fortune . But then at Cooper Union intuitive eyes
H a d ar e ad me asured you r tall fr ame, n c eful sp ech ,
- e You r strength an d self possession . T hen th y came With th at dram atic sense which is American
n d I to t he h all with rails which you h a split,
r a es And called you Honest Abe, an d wea ing b dg With your face on them an d t he poor catch words
n e Of Ho est Abe, as if you were a refere e r m n Lik Hones t Kelly, when in t uth no a H ad ever been your intim ate, ever s lapped you
e With brisk familiarity, o r call d you
n Anything but Mr . Li coln , never
Abe, or Abrah am , an d never u sed T he Hello Bill of salutation to you
e O great p atrician , th refore fit to be Great democrat as well !
In 1 862 Ch arles publishes “ r How O chid Flowers are Fertilized by Insects, An d you give forth a proclam ation s aying “ T he n U ion must h ave peace, o r I wipe out
T he Ne r ee blot of g o sl avery . You s , ’ T he s ymphony s the thing, an d if you mar it,
e e sl Cont nding ov r avery, I remove T he r e sou c of the dish armony . I admit T he r t he re h e o f eedom of p ss but for t Uni n . n a t o Whe you buse he Union, y u shall stop . 245 THE GOLDEN TREASURY
And when you are in j ail, no h abeas corpus — ” Shall bring relief I h ave suspended it . To- day they call you libe rtarian e W ll, so you were, but just as Beauty is, e And Truth is, even if th y curb an d vanquish T he lower heights of beauty an d of truth . T hey take your speech an d deeds an d give y o u place
In Hebrew temples with Ezekiel, Habakkuk an d Isaiah you emerge
From this association , m as ter man ! You are not of the faith that breeds the ethic
Wranglers, who m ake eco nomic goals
T e r h st ain an d test ofl ife . You are not one, e e e e Spit of your lash an d sword threat, who b li v e God will avenge the wea k . Th at is the dr am Which builds millenniums where dish armonies T h at m ake the larger h armony sh all cease e a A d ream not yours . And th y sh ll lose you who Enth rone you as a prophet who cut through T he circle of our hum an s phere of life l a s To et in wrath an d judgments , fin l test
On Life a round the price of sparrows , weights
Wherewith bread sh all be weig hed .
e T here is a windless fl ame where cries an d t ars, n d a Where hunger , strife, an d w ar a hum n blood
No sh adow cast, an d where the love of Truth,
Which is not love of individu al souls,
Finds solace in a Judgment of our life . Th at is the Fl ame th at took both Ch arles an d You O leader in a Commonwealth of Though t ! ’ Reedy s Mirror Edgar Lee Mas ters 246
THE GOLDEN TREASURY
a Tow rds the men who waited , only waited patiently l when a l seemed lost, Many bitter winters of defeat ;
Down to t he granite of patience
T ese e n o h roots sw pt, k otted fibrous r ots , prying, piercing,
seeking, An d drew from t he living rock an d the livin g waters about it
T he red s a a r a p to c r y upw rds to the sun .
No t r p oud , but humble,
er an d as s e Only to s ve p on , to ndure to t he en d through s ervice ;
Fo r axe a at the is l id the roots of t he trees, an d all th at br ing not forth good fruit
S a d d h ll be cut own on the ay to come an d cast into t he fire .
e - There is a silence abroad in t h land to day , e e An d in t h h arts of men , a deep an d anxious silence ;
d s e re e r e An , becau we a still at last, thos b onz lips slowly
open ,
Those hollow an d weary eyes take on a gleam of light .
fi - he Slowly a p atient, rm syllabled voice cuts through t endless silence Like l abou ring oxen th at d rag a plow through th e ch aos of rude cl ay- fields ;
I went forward as t he light goes forward in early s pring ,
r But there we e also many things which I left be hind . OF MAGAZINE VERSE
Tombs th at were quiet ; he da One, of a mother, whose brief light went out in t rk
ness , O e r e a n e, of a loved o n e, t he snow on whos g av is long f lling,
n e w s n . O , only of a child , but it a mi e
“ ? Have y o u forgot your graves Go, question them in
anguish , a e Listen long to their unstirred lips . From your host g s
e e to sil nc ,
Learn there is no life without death , no d awn without
s unsetting, l No victory but to him who h as given a l.
- The clamour of cannon dies down , the furn ace mouth of
the battle is s ilent . he T he midwinter s un dips an d descends, t earth takes on
afresh its bright co lours, e we But he whom we mocked an d obeyed not, h whom
scorned an d mistrusted ,
He . has descend ed , like a god , to his rest
’ s Over the upro ar of citie , Over the million intricate threads of life wavering an d
cross ing, he x In t midst of problems we kn ow not, tangling, perple
e a ing, nsn ring,
Rises one white tomb alone .
Beam over it, stars, — Wrap it round , s tripes stripes red for the p arn th at he bo re fo r y o u T HE GOLDEN T REASURY
f e 0 fla e a En old it forev r, g , rent, soil d , but rep ired thro ug h your anguish ; o e w L ng as you k ep him there safe, the nations sh all bo
to your law .
Strew over him flowers
- - Blue forget me nots from the north , an d the bright pink ar butus
F he a he e r e s rom t e st, an d from t w st ich orang blo som , But from the heart of the land take the passion- flower ;
a e R yed , viol t, dim,
a r n With the n ils th at pierced , the cross th at he bo e a d
the circlet,
e ere l - e And b side it th ay also one lonely snow whit m agnoli a,
Bitter for remembrance of the healing which h as passed . The P oetry Review of Amer ica j ohn Gould Fletcher
General W illiam Booth Enters into Heaven
[T o be s un g to t he tun e o f The Blood of the Lamb with in di cated in strumen t!
[B ass dr um beaten loudly!
OOT H led boldly with his big bass drum !Are you washed in the blood of the L amb ?) “ ’ The Saints smiled gr avely an d they said : He s com e . !Are you washed in t h e blo od of the Lamb ?)
e r r a Walking lepers follow d , ank on nk,
Lurchin g bravoes from the ditches d ank, 25 0
THE GOLDEN TREASURY
Booth saw not, but led his queer ones there
- - d . Round an round the mighty court house s quare. Yet in an ins tant all th at blear review
ched . Mat on spotless, clad in raiment new l m w The a e ere straightened , withered limbs uncurle d
e And blind eyes open d on a new, sweet world .
[B ass dr um louder!
Drabs an d vixens in a flash m ade whole !
e w s he e - e Gon a t weas l h ad , the snout, the jowl ! e n d n S ag s a sibyls now, a d athletes clean,
Rulers of empires, an d of forests green !
Gra hor us o tr r [ nd c f all in s umen ts . Tambou in es to the foregr oun d!
s e n d e The host were sand all d , a their wings w re fire ! !Are you was hed in the blood of t he Lamb ?)
- But their noise pl ayed h avoc with t he angel choir. !Are you was hed in t h e blood of t he L amb ?)
0 , shout Salvation ! It w as good to see
s King an d Princes by the Lamb set free . T he b anjos rattled an d t he tambourines — — Jing jing jingled in the h ands of Queens .
er t [Rev en ly s un g, n o in s trumen ts !
And when Booth h alted by the curb for prayer ’ - He s aw his M aster thro the flag filled air . Christ came gently with a robe an d crown
e e . For Booth the soldier, whil the throng kn lt down
e r e e He s aw King Jesus . T h y we e fac to fac ,
- And he knelt a weeping in th at holy place . Are you was hed in the blood of the L amb ? P oetry: A Magazin e of Verse Vachel Linds ay 25 2 OF MAGAZINE VERSE
The Poppies
HIS is the garden of our joyous care, Where such a little time before y o u died You walked with pleas ant pride n And poi ted out your favorites, the rare
e n h e e Tree ros s, a d t riotous d light e r he e Of poppi s, from the c imson to t whit n Soundi g the gamut of ecstatic h ue . So richly coloured was all life to you ! e Yo u nev r called the world a vale of tears . Such long an d loving labor overgrown ! How so on the wild undoes your p atient years ’ Not wholly; with each summer s weeds I s ee
- e e s . Poppies aris , s lf own ’ They are your garden s immortality .
Wh at would be Heaven for you ? It comforts me To picture you with leisu re an d with strength To bring to life at length Your d reams of beauty all you r soul set free
F n éc rom the mean goading of essity , And from the bodily pain r You bo re so b avely, like a galling ch ain e Th at h avy grew a n d heavier each day . When death struck these away I kn ew the magnitude of your release r By you high lo ok of peace . ad God knows I h no l ack of tears, but they
fo r . w Were not you My sorrow as my own . “ I o I read will n t leave y ou comfortlgs s , ” B ill o to o d o ut I w c me y u. I ha n t kn own 25 3 T HE GOLDEN TREASURY
T he meaning of those words until your death . You were less near to me when I could press Your h and an d feel your breath
ee . ee s Upon my ch k, th an now You s m o near ,
So e r full of lif , so constantly mo e dear , I feel it only need s to turn my gaze To see you standing here A r ers s . mong you flow , a in other d ays Like little s houts of exultation sweet T he poppies at my feet
se he Loo to t wind their petals . Let them die
F n w n d a r e e . rom them sh ll sp ing b auty, by a by T hey are not over- greedy for a pledge Of immortality ; they give their bes t
To eart h God knows the rest . So did you tread your path across the edge
o Of this our vis ible world . You did not h ard ’ Your S pirit s treasure for a wor ld unseen No r ch affer with you r God fo r a reward
o e r Ere you would serve . You did n t ev n t ust
Your M aster wo uld be ju s t .
w er s an d er You went you r ay gen ou s ene, An d gave unques tio ning all you h ad to spend
As fr iend to fr iend . If you h ad known th at all s hould en d in dus t
r r r You would h ave thought it sh ame to d op you swo d , Becaus e you fought your beas ts at Ephes us
No t fo r you rself for us,
Who loved in you t he love of righteousness . T here is no so ul th at touched you in t h e s tress Of th at great battle where you did you r p a rt
o e S gallantly, which you did not impr ss 2 54
THE GOLDEN TREASURY
The sunshine slan ts
To play with ,
- e e Our wee, gold dusty flower, the y llow clov r, Which once in parting fo r a time ee Th at then s med long,
Ere time fo r yo u w as over, W e sealed o ur o wn ? o u e e Do y , r m mber yet,
0 Soul beyond the stars, Beyo nd the uttermo st dim bars
Of sp ace, r e Dea Soul, who found arth sweet, ’ e r e Rem mber by love s g ac ,
In d reamy hus hes of the heavenly song,
e How suddenly we h alt d in o ur climb,
Lingering, reluctant, up th at farthest hill,
o r he s e Stooped f t blos oms closest to our f et, An d gave them as a token
Each to each ,
In lieu of speech ,
e s In li u of word too grievous to be spoken ,
e e n e T hos littl , gypsy, wo dering blossoms w t With a strange dew of tears ?
So it began ,
This vagabond , unvalued yellow clover, r e To be o u tenderest language . All th years
e w It l nt a n e zest to th e summ er hours, As each of us went scheming to s urpr ise
h s T e other with our homely, lau reate flower , Sonnets an d odes
r F inging o ur d aily roads . 2 56 OF MAGAZINE VERSE
Can am aranth an d asphod el Bring merrier laughter to your eyes ? e r s ere e a e Oh, if the Blest, in th i n bod s, e e r Keep an y wistful consciousn ss of a th, a Not grandeurs, but the childish w ys of love,
r Simplicities of mi th , Must follow them above With touches of vague homesickness that pass
Like sh adows of swift birds across the grass .
Beneath some foreign ar ch of sky, How m any a time the rover Y o u o r I ,
Fo r life o ffis un dered lo ok from look, e And voice from voice, th transient dearth Schooling my soul to brook
This distance that no messages may sp an, Would chance n Upon our Wilding by a lo ely well,
Or drowsy watermill,
Or swaying to t he chime of convent bell, Or where the nightingales of old romance With trag ical contraltos fill Dim solitudes of infinite desire; And once I joyed to meet Our peas ant gad a bout
s e r a A tre pass r on t im , seigniorial se t, Twinklin g a s aucy ey e
As potentates p aced by .
r Our golden cord ! o u soft, pu rsuing fl ame ’ From fr iends hip s altar fire ! How proudly we would pluck an d tame 25 7 T HE GOLDEN TREASURY
e m ! The dimpling clust rs, utin o risly g ay Ho w swiftly they were sent
Fat , far away
On journeys wide, n By sea a d continent,
Green miles an d blue leagues over,
c From each of us to ea h ,
s Th at o our hearts might reach ,
h e e e And touch within t y llow clov r, ’ Love s letter to be glad a bo ut Like sunshin e when it came !
My sorrow asks no healing; it is love ; Let love then m ake me brave To bear the keen hurts of
es s e e T his carel s umm rtid , wn e Ay , of o ur o poor flow r,
Ch anged with our fatal hour, Fo r all its sunshin e vanis hed when you died ;
Only white clover blos soms on your grave . The P oetry Review of Amer ica K atha r in e Lee
O N a R ver ight , ose
HAT over night a ro se could come
o n e e e e e I , tim did b li v , e For when t he fairies live with o n ,
They wilfully d eceive . But now I know this perfect thing Under t he frozen sod
T HE GOLDEN TREASURY
n d d 0 we have wakened , Sweet, a ha our birth, ’ An d that s the end of eart h ; e An d we have toiled an d smiled an d kept th light, ’ An d th at s t he en d of night . The Atla n tic Mon thly Ridgely Tor ren ce
Battle S leep
s OMEW HERE, 0 un , some comer there must
w s T hou vis itest, where do n the trand
s es s ea Quietly, till , t he wav go out to
From t he green fr inges of a pas tor al land .
- Deep 1n the orch ard bloom the roof trees stand ,
T he brown s heep graze along t he bay , An d through t he apple- boughs a bove t he sand ’ s er a he r T he bees hum sound no faint th n t sp ay.
There through uncounted hours declin es the day ’ s T o t he low arch of twilight close,
d s s n a t he r r An , ju t a ight bout moon g ows g ay,
On e s ail lean s westward to the fading ros e .
s s Giver of d re am , 0 thou with catheless win g
n Forever movi g through t he fiery h ail,
fl me- s a re t he o n s r n T o a e d lids c oli g vi ion b i g, An d let some soul go seawar d wi th th at sail ! The Cen tury Ma gazin e Edith W ha rton
260 OF MAGAZ INE VERSE
S ong
From Fles h A Gregorian Ode
BB on with me acros s the sunset tide
he e r An d float beyond t wat s of the world, s r T he light of evening lipping f om thy side, e Thy softened voice in wav s of silence furled .
r Flow on into the fl aming mo ning Wine,
Drownin g the land in color . T hen on high Rise in thy candid innocence an d shine Like to a poplar straight again st the sky: ’ ra r r B r The B oston T n sc ipt Edwa d j . O ien
A S tatue in a Garden
WAS a goddes s ere t he m arble found ! Wind , wind , delay not Waft my spirit where t he laurel crowned Will the wind s tay not ?
r s e Then tarry, tar y, li t n , little swallow! An old glory feeds me . I lay upon t he bos om of Apollo !
Not a bird heeds me .
r a e . For here the d ays a e li n O, to waken
a Mine, mine, with c lling ! r are e r But on my shoulde s b , lik hopes fo saken , e T he dead leaves ar falling. T HE GOLDEN T REASURY
T he sky is gray an d full of unshed weeping As dim down the garden
I wait an d watch t he early autumn sweeping.
The stalks fade an d harden .
The souls of all the flowers afar h ave rallied . T he rees t , gaunt, appalling, n d Attest the gloom , a on my shoulders pallid
The dead leaves a re falling . P oetry A Magazin e of Vers e Agn es Lee
The Lessér Children
A T HRENODY AT T HE HUNT ING S EAS ON
N the middle of August when t he southwes t wind i Blows after sunset th rough t he leisuring a r, An d on the sky nightly t he mythic Bee
w h his Leads do n t e sullen dog star to l air,
After the feverous vigil of July, ’ When the loud pagean t of the year s high noon
a e e an d r P ssed up th ways of tim to sing pa t, Grief also wandered by
r he n d s F om out t lovers a the leave of June,
An d e th e m one night, at th hiding of oon , ’ I knew his heart was very Love s o wn heart . Deep within d reams he led me out of doors
As e from th upper vault t he night outpours, An d when I s aw th at to him all t he s kies Yearned as a se a as lee p ye arns to it s s hores
He took a little clay an d touched my eyes.
262
T HE GOLDEN TREASURY
o o Soon will the mirroring w odland po ls begin to con her , An d her s ad immemorial pass ion come upon her; Lo dd ? , would yo u a d esp air unto desp air Sh all not the Spring be answer to her prayer ?
Must her uncomfort ed heavens overhead, e r n d Weeping, look down on t a s a still behold
Only wings broken o f a fledgling dead, Or underfoot the meadows th at wore gold Die n r , a d the leaves go mou ning to the mould Beneath poor dead an d d es pera te feet ’ Of folk who in next summer s meadows shall not meet ?
W ho has not seen in the high gulf of light
r n o Wh at, lower, was a bi d , but w Is moored an d altered quite Into an island of unshaded joy ? To whom the m ate below upon the bough
n d s r Shouts once a bring him f om his high employ . Yet speeding he forgot not of the cloud r an d Where he from glory sp ang burned aloud, d But took a little of t he ay , e A little of the color d sky, An d of the joy th at would not stay
He wove a song th at cannot die . h e Then , then t e unfathom abl sh ame;
ar e r The one last wrong os f om out the flame, T he ravening hate that hated not was hurled
e Bidding the radiant lov once more beware,
e e es Bringing one mor lon lin s on the world,
And one more blindness in t he unseen air . o re re N r may the smooth g t, the pitying oath S e er h d on such utter bitt an y leaven . 264 OF MAGAZINE VERSE
Only the pleading flowers th at kn ew them both l o e Hold a l their blo dy p tals up to heaven .
Winds of t he fall that all year to an d fro
Somewhere upon t he earth go wandering, w e You s a , you moan d , you know Withhold not then unto all time to tell
Lest unborn others of us see this thing .
Bring our sleek , comfort able reason low Recount how souls grown tremulous as a bell Came forth each other an d t he day to greet
i - er s ee In morning a r all Indian Summ w t, An e d crept upstream , through woo d or fi ld or brake, Most tremblingly to ta ke ’ What crumbs that from the M aster s ta ble fell .
e e Cry with what thronging thunders th y wer met,
e w e w An d hide not how t h least leaf as m ad et . Cry t ill no watcher says that all is well
r l With raucous disco d through the eaning spheres . But te ll
r r With tea s, with tea s How the last man is harmed even as they
e fi e . Who on these d awns ar r , at dusk are clay r d Reco d the dumb an wise, e No less than those who lived in singing guis ,
Whose chor ic hearts lit each wild green arcade .
e Make men to see th ir eyes, Force d to suspect behind each reed or rose
The thorn of lur king. foes . h And 0 , before t e d aylight goes,
n After t he deed agai s t the s kies,
After the last belief an d longing dies, T HE GOLDEN TREASURY
Make men again to see their eyes Whos e piteous eas emen ts now all unafraid f Peer out to th at ar verge where evermore, e ll wo e B yond a for which a tear atones,
e e r The lik n ss of our own dishono moans,
A sea th at has no bottom an d no shore .
Wh at sh all be done
s ? By you , shy folk who cea e thus heart by heart You fo r whoSe fate such fate forever hovers ?
s 0 little lover , If you would s till h ave nests beneath t he sun
a e s G th r your brood about you an d depart , Before t he stony forward- p res s ing faces Into t he lands bereft of an y sound ;
T he solemn an d compas s ion ate desert places . Give unto men no more t he s tron g delight T o know th at unde rne ath t he frozen ground
r . Dwells t he warm life an d all the quick, pu e lore
Take from our eyes the glory of great flight . Let us behold no more ’ People untroubled by a Fate s veiled eyes,
Leave us upon an ear th of fa ith forlorn . No more wild tidings from t he sweet far skies ’ Of love s long utmost he avenward endeavor . So sh all t he silence pour on us forever
T he streaming arrows of unutter able scorn .
No r shall the cry of famine be a s hield e T he altar of a brutis h mood to hid .
n s s s e o ur Stai , tain , upon t he lint ls of doors
Wail to be justified .
266
T HE GOLDEN TREASURY
H n ' l u gei at ast would prove us of one blo od ,
T he shores of dreams be d rowned in tides of need ,
Horribly would the whole ear th be at peace . T he bur den of the grasshopper indeed
w e ee r n d e e Weigh do n t h gr n co n a t h t nder bud , E The plague of gypt fall upon the wheat, An d the shrill nit would batten in t he heat .
e n d i But you, 0 po or of d eds a r ch of breath,
a e e o ur e e a h Whose eyes h v m ad y s ue abhorred ,
Red a r a aid- un n eedin De , e ge ids of g ath,
Hunters before the Lord , If on t he flin t ed m arge about you r souls
In vain the heaving tide of mourning rolls, If from your trails unto the cr imson goals
n d e ee s e r T he weeper a t h w ping mu t d pa t, If lust of blood come on you like a fiery d art d ll m i An d arken a the d ark autu n al a r,
be . T hen, then fair Pluck a young as h tree o r a s apling yew
An r n d x n r d at the oot e fi a iron tho n , T hen forth with rocking laughter of the horn
d s An pa s ing, with no be lling retinue,
s h e dew All timorou , lesser s ippers of t , Seek out some bu rly gu ardian of the hills
An d s et you r u rgent thew against his thew . T hen shall t he hidden wisdoms an d the wills
e e t he ee n d c Strive, an d b ar witn ss to tr s a lods Ho w o n e h as dumb lore of the rocks an d swales
An d o n e h as reas on like unto t he gods .
T e s h n sh all t he lagging righteou ness ensue,
T e ers at s be h pow l a t equ al in t he scales,
268 OF MAGAZINE VERSE
’ ’ An d the man s club an d t he beast s claw be flails
To winnow t he unwort hy of t he two .
n d he e e T hen on t he earth , in the sky a t h av nly cour t
r s e Th at b ood b hind it, n e Justice sh all be awakened a d awar , s s r T hen those who go for th greatly, eeking po t,
s Sha ll doubtles find it, b An d all things e fair . The Atla n tic Mon thly Ridgely Tor ren ce
98 A Thrush in the Moon light
n d ere m e N came t he moon a cov d e with wond r ,
e d m r . T ouc hed me an d w as near m , an m ade e ve y still
s er er In came a rush of ong, like rain aft thund ,
- Pouring importun ate on my window s ill .
e see n o r I lowered my h ad , I hid it, I would not hear,
' h e h d T he bird song ad stricken m , a brought t he moon
too near .
e e e e a But wh n I d ar d to lift my h ad , night b g n to fill
With singing in t he d arkness . And then t he thr us h grew
still .
h d - And t e moon came in , an silence, on my window s ill . P oetry A Maga zin e of Vers e W itter By n n er
November
as ers ? s r ARK you such sound quiv King will he a ,
n d e As kings h ave heard , a tr mble on their th rones ; T he old will feel t he weigh t of mossy stones ;
n s ff The young alone will laugh a d co at fear . THE GOLDEN TREASURY
It is the tread of armies m arching near, From scarlet lands to lands forever p ale; It is a bugle dying down the gale;
It is the sudden gushing of a tear. An d it is h and s th at grope at ghostly doors; An d romp of spir it- child ren on the pave; It is the ten de t sighing of the brave
o r Who fell, ah ! long ag , in futile wa s ;
It is such sound as death ; an d, after all, ’ T is but t he fores t letting dead leaves fall .
The B ellma n Ma hlon Leon ard F is her
The W inter S cene
HE rutted roads are all like iron ; skies Are keen an d brilliant ; only the o ak - leaves cling
s o r r - In the bare wood , h a dy bitter sweet ; Drivers h ave put their s h eeps kin j ackets on ; An d all the ponds a re sealed with sheeted ice
- Th a t rings with s troke of skate an d hockey stick,
Or in t he twilight cr acks with running whoop .
n s o k d Br i g in t he log of a an hickory,
And m ake an ample blaz e on the wide hearth . ’ e er o No w is t he tim , with wint er t he world ,
d d e - Fo r books an friend s an y llow candle light,
An d timeless linger ing by t he settling fire,
n a s n While all t he shudd eri g s t r are keen a d cold . II
e Out of the silent portal of th hou rs, When frosts are come an d all the hosts put on 2 70
T HE GOLDEN T REASURY
nd s Across the meadows a the open field , e 0 1 whirl d like diamond dust in t he bright s un ,
e r n d fo r Settl d to est, a a tranquil hour The lengthening bluish sh adows on t he snow
n d r se Stole down the orch ard slope, a a o light
Flooded t h e earth with glory an d with peace . Then in the west be hind t he ced ars black The sinking sun m ade red the winter dusk
s e e e With udd n fl are along t h snowy r idg ,
e r re Lik a a m asterpiece by Hokusai,
e r Wh re on a background g ay, with flaming breath
T he crimson dragon dies in dusky gold .
The Nation Bliss Carman
The Twelve- Forty- Five
F r a r hee er ! o Edw d j . W l )
IT HIN t he Jersey City shed The engine coughs an d sh a kes its
e d n d e T he smoke, a plum of re a whit ,
Waves m adly in t he face of night .
An d e r ar now the grav , incu ious st s
a . Gleam on the groaning, hurrying c rs Agains t the kind an d awful reign
r ra Of d a kness, this our angry t in ,
A s noi y little rebel , pouts
e n d Its brief defiance, fl am s a shouts
d s n d e ra e . An p as es on , a l aves no t c e Fo r d a r kness hold s its anci nt pl ace,
e e e t he Ser n an d absolut , king
Unch anged , of every living thing. 272 OF MAGAZINE VERSE
The houses lie obscure an d still
In Rutherford an d Carlton Hill . Our lamps intensify t he d ar k
Of s lumbering Pas s aic Pa rk . An d quiet holds the weary feet
a r r s T h at d aily tr mp th ough P o pect Street . Wh at though we clang an d cl ank an d roar ’ Through all Passaic s streets ? No door
n ee Will open, not a ey e will s
Who this loud vagabo nd may be . e Upon my crimson cu s hioned s at,
In m anufactured light an d heat,
I feel unn atural an d mea n . Outsid e the towns are cool an d clean ; Cu rtained awhile from sound an d sight ’ T hey take God s gr acious gift of night .
T he stars are watchful over them . On Clifton as on Bethlehem T e he angels, leaning down th sky,
ms Shed peace an d gentle drea . And I
s r de I ride, I blasphemou ly i
T hrough all t he s ilent countryside . ’ ’ r e T he engine s sh iek, the h adlight s glare, r i Pollute the still noctu n al a r . T he cot tages of Lake View sigh
s we An d sleeping, frown a p ass by .
e er Why, even strid nt Pat son
Rests quietly as an y nun . Her foolish warr ing child ren keep
The grateful armis tice of sleep . ’ Fo r wh at tremendous errand s sake Are we so blatantly awa ke ? THE GOLDEN TREASURY
Wh at precious secret is our freight ? Wh at king must be a broad so late ? Per h aps Death roams t he hills to - night we r And ush fort h to give him fight .
Or e e er we ee a ls , p h aps, sp d his w y
To some remote unthinking prey . Per h aps a wom an writhes in pain And lis tens lis tens fo r t he tr ain !
T he train , that like an angel sings,
h r e . T e t ain , with h aling on its wings “ ” o w e ! h N H awthorn t e conductor cries . n My neighbor starts a d r ubs his eyes . He hur ries yawning through t he car
e s se And st p out where t he hou s are. This is t he reas on of o ur quest ! No t wan tonly we break t he rest
n d e n r Of town a villag , o do we ’ Lightly profane night s sanctity . m Wh at Love co m ands the train fulfils, An d beautiful upon t he hills
Are thes e o ur feet of burnished steel . Subtly an d certainly I feel Th at Glen Rock welcomes us to her And s ilent Ridgewo od seems to stir
m e e s s e And s il , b cau e s he know t h train
e Has brought her childr n back again . W e car ry people home an d so ’
e s s s e r w . God spe d u , where o e e go
s a A e a e Hohoku , W ldwick, ll nd l
Lift s leepy head s to give us h ail .
Ra a ff In ms ey, M a hw h , Su ern , stand Hous es th at wis tfully demand 274
T HE GOLDEN TREASURY
we Rattles down the t decks lifting high , with the wail
- n d Up the win d of the fog horn a behind on our trail , An d a we nose str ight out in the teeth of the gale,
n he r I k ow by t th ob th at the engines prevail,
a a e s And ste dy, my cour g unles the stars fail, ’ We ll m ake it .
e me r e an But t ll , O g ay yes d blue,
r Did you know in you watching, 0 dim eyes an d tr ue, ’ In th at black night s wild fury while the s torm- sign als
flew, While the storm beat us back an d t he hoarse whistles blew D w n ? id you know, 0 my d ear ones, I as comi g to you
T h e silence of midnight ; the hiss of t he swell ; T he creaking of timbers ; t he close ca bin smell ; T he slow- swaying s hadows ; t he jar of t he screw; The wind at the s hutter ; t he feet of t he cr ew ; e T h cry of a child is he coming home, too ?
’ There s a rent in t he night an d a star glimmers through . T he skies clear above us ; the west banks up brown ; ’ T he wind dies across us ; t he sea s r unning down ;
a r s s he r s e And c o t dim wate , till br a king in foam , ’ re - St tches out t he far s hore line an d I m coming home .
T he hills s mile a welcom e ; t he long night is p ast; ’ And t he ship s turning into t he h ar bor at last .
w l he s T he engines s low down ; e s tea through t lip , Past t he low burning l amp an d with quivering lip
- Call down to the life s avers cheering us on . 276 OF MAGAZINE VERSE
' ar us i h The we y throb sends s t ra g t i n to the d avi n , a n d e b ll a e F ir a whit up the ay , h alf asleep, a dr am , ra s e n d a a In its t n luc nt purple a pearl . Just gle m Out there of the earliest s ail ; here t he curl Of the firs t l az y smoke from a ca bin a girl r Loops up the long vines at t he doorway . A swi l
Of white water behind us ; th en a stir at the doc k . — — Steam s lowly ! The headline the stern- line t he shock
we a As swing longside, an d across t he plank flock
W an es - fac , with breath still a quiver, the roar
he n Of t night s till above a d about them , t he floor Still uncer tain ; but over t he gra teful brown loam ’ e - W crowd to the shore boat an d I m coming home .
And away to the north over d epths of cool green
h ff - From t e blu s over head , where the deep set ravine
s Dig down to the heart of t he wood , while a stream
e r a r n e Trickl s out ove s nds d ifting white, a d t he pi r ’ a e ere ! Re ches out through t he water to meet us . We r h
From t he pier to the boat- house an d away down the s hore Flutters back to the group at th e old farm- house door ’ r T he word that I m coming . And from w inkled old
h ands ,
h e a s As t e dear old feet toil th rough t he weary whit s nd ,
- e n d Bringing welcome an d welcome, from boat hous a
r st and ,
T he rr - hu ying, white winged s ign als all come God pity t he mortal who has never come home !
’ ? e And I I m not worth it . But gray eyes an d blu ,
e he s me Whil t torms beat about , O dear hearts mpduttum 2 77 THE GOLDEN TREASURY
e Or the fogs flinging far, blot the stars from the blu , h If t e pole star leads on or the rudder swings true, ’ ’ It s not Heaven I m after, I am coming to you .
But Heaven it will be when down the blue dome ’ Flutter out t he white s ign als that I m coming home . The Cen tury Magazin e Eliza beth S ewell Hill
W e who were Lovers of Life
F r om The S tory of Eleus is
er E who w e lovers of life, who were fond of the
n hearth a d t he homeland , ’ e he w Gon like a d rowner s cry borne on t perilous ind , h Gone from t e glow of t he sunlight, now are in exile
etern al ,
Strangers sit in the pl ace dear to us once as o ur own .
Happy are they; an d they know not we were as strangers before them ; n o Nay , r th at others sh all come : Knowledge belongs to
t he dead . Life is so rich th at the living look not away from the p resent ;
Eyes th at t he sun m ade blind learn in t he dusk to see .
e ha r l Onc we d friends, we h ad kind ed ; al of us now are
r fo gotten ,
‘ All but ‘ th e er - h o kings, lords of the glory of war ;
T HE GOLDEN TREASURY
e the i e s Ha e e A ’ H re by r v r of d s ; Phleg thon , chero ir, Lethe, n d Wisdom comes , a d t he e ad judge wh at they did with their lives Never t he cluster ing vineyard yielded to an y its fulness Ah , but t he child ren here pl aying their d esol ate games !
The o tr Re o r a P e y view f Ame ic Louis V. Ledoux
S ummons
HE a er n d h w e g night a t e impetuous inds,
T h an d s r e hints whi pe s of a thousand lu res ,
l he r And a l t swift pe s u asion of t he Spring,
r e r t he a s n n me . Su g d f om st r a d stones, a d swept on he T smell of honeysuckle s, keen an d clear, r n d Sta tled a shook me, with the sudden th rill
- - Of s ome well known but h alf forgotten voice .
e er r a e e A sl nd st e m b came a n aked sprit ,
d s n e Flashed aroun cu rious bend , a d winked at m
r s n . B eyond the tu n , alert a d mischievou s
ffr n h re A sa on moo , d angling among t e t es,
Seemed like a toy balloon caught in t he boughs,
- Flung there in sport by some too mirthful breeze .
as e And it hung th re, vivid an d un real , ’ T he whole world s leth argy was brushed away; T he night kept tugging at my torpid mood
And tore it into s h reds . A warm air blew My wintry slo thfulness beyond t he s tars ; And over all indifference the re s treamed A myr iad u rges in o n e rus hing wave
e T ouch d with t he lavish miracles of earth , I felt t he brave persis ten ceo f t he gr ass ; 280 OF MAGAZINE VERSE
he T he far desire of rivulets ; t keen, Unconquerable fervor of t he thrush ; T he endless la bors of t he patient worm ; ’ T he lichen s st rength ; t he prowess of the an t; T he constancy Of flowers ; t he blin d belief Of ivy climbing slowly toward t he s un ; T he etern al struggles an d etern al d eaths An d y et t he groping fa ith of every root ! Out of old graves arose the cry of life ;
Out of t h e dying cam e t he deathless call .
s es es s And , th rilling with a n ew weet res tl sn , T he thing th at was my boyhood woke in me
a e e s r a a Dear , foolis h fragments m d m t ong g in ;
V se e aliant adventures , d reams of tho to com ,
An d ll e e a t he vague, h roic hop s of youth ,
s s a With fres h abandon , like a fearle l ugh , ’ Leaped up to face t he heaven s unconcern .
An d then veil upon veil was torn as ide
S ta e r n d rs, like a host of m rry gi ls a boys, ’ me Danced gaily round , plucking at my h and ;
e T he nigh t, scorning its anci nt mystery, Leaned down an d pres sed n ew courage in my heart ;
- T he hermit thr us h , th robbing wi th more Song, Sang with a h appy ch allenge to the skies ; n d s rl Love, a the face of a wo d of child ren, Swept like a conquering army through my blood
ll r An d Beauty, r ising out of a its fo ms,
s t he er e Beauty, t he p a sion of univ s ,
a r o r Flamed with its joy, thing too g eat f tears,
e e re se fo r me An d, lik a win , pou d it lf out
be r n To d rink of, to wa med with, a d to go THE GOLDEN TREASURY
Refreshed an d strengthened to the ceaseless fight ; To meet with confidence the cynic years;
B attling in wars th at never can be won ,
ee S king the lost cause an d the brave defeat . The Cen tury Magazin e Louis Un ter meyer
The Dead
HINK you the d ead are lonely in th at place ? T m n d a hey are co p anioned by the leaves a gr ss,
ea n a s e e By m any a b utiful a d v ni h d fac ,
By all t he str ange an d lovely things th at pass .
n d n d he r Sunsets a d awnings a t sta ry vast,
e h ra e ee T h swimming moon , t e t c ry of tr s
m r at a These they sh all know o e perfectly l st,
They s h all be in tim ate with such as these . ’ T is only fo r t he living Beauty dies,
Fades an d d rifts from us with too br ief a grace, Beyond the ch anging tapestry of skies
Where dwells her per fect an d immortal face . Fo r us the p ass age br ief the h appy dead
Are ever by great beauty visited .
’ All Souls Night ! Forth from their dwelling places
T h ey cross t he aching an d uneasy night,
a Seeking old doors an d dear remembered f ces, Peer ing unseen in windows where a light
282
THE GOLDEN TREASURY
For, in the cities, n d f And d ark on the lonely farms, a wai s on the o cean , As s n a h arrying of wind , a a eddying of dust,
e o W dead , in ur soft shining bodies th at are combed an d . re ss a ki ed , Are ghosts fleeing from t he inescap able h ell of ourselves
We are even as beetles skating over the waters of our
o wn d ar kness,
e r an d r s e Even as beetl s, d a ting e tl ss, But t he depths da r k an d void
e : O n W h ave found no peace, no peace th ugh our engi es are crafty Wh at av ail wings to t he flier in t he skies While his dead soul like an anchor drags on the E arth ? ’ d s i An wh at avail lightning d arting a m an s voice, link ng t s he citie ,
While in t he booth h e is t he s ame varnished clod , An d his soul flies not after ? An d wh at av ails it th at t h e body of man has waxed
m ammoth ,
e t he an d t he ream Limb d with lightning st ,
r n d r While his s pir it rem ain s a to ment a a t ifle, r ? And gaining t he world , p ofits nothing
- - h e e r t e a . Self murdered , self slain , t h d ad cumbe E rth An d how did t héy die ?
A boy was born in t he pour ing r adiance of creative m agic An d with pulses of music h e was born Of himself he might h ave been shaping a song-win gé d poet
But he was afraid . 284 OF MAGAZINE VERSE
He feared the gaunt garret of starvation an d the lonely ’ years in his soul s desert, h s An d he feared to be a j est an d a fool before i friends .
s he s Now he clerk , t l ave
An d the m agic is s limed with disastrous opiates of t he Night .
A girl was bathed with the lis some beauty of the seeker
of love,
n T he call of t he anim als o e to another in t he Spring,
n e as T he des ire of t he ca ptive wom an i her h art, s he ran an d leaped on t he hills ; ’ But t he imprisoned beas t s cry ter r ified her as s he looked out over t he love- quiet of t he modern world Yet s h e desired to take this man - lu re an d release it into
s lovelines , r he Become a d ancer, lulling with witchc aft of r young body the fevered world
h e er e e e e s . But, no, r moth spi d h r a wick dnes
s Sh am efully s he ubmitted , m aking a s moldering inferno
h N h r of t e hidd en ymph in e soul,
An d so died .
A wom an was made body an d h eart fo r t h e beautiful
e- lov life .
- But of t he mother miracle, s he How t he cry of a troubled child whiten t red p assions,
She did not know . Fear of poverty cor rupted her : s he chose a fool th at h er
e r h a t h ated ,
o h e And now th rough him no release f r er n ativ p as s ions , But only a s pending of her loathsome fu ry on adornment
an d luxury .
! n r ! Ah, dead glory a d t he heart sick with bet ayal THE GOLDEN TREASURY
is a fo a There no gr ce r the de d , save to be born ag ain r Engines sh all not drag us f om the grave, N o r wine nor meat revive us .
r a r c n n o For our thi st is thi st no liquor a reach r sl ake,
An d our hunger a hunger by no bread filled . The waters we crave bubble up from t he s prings of
life, An d t he bread we would break comes down from invis ible
h ands .
W e dead ! awake !
h o d s Kiss t e bel v é p a t goodby,
t e e- se t h e bet r é d Go leave h lov hou of ay self, ’ An d th rough t he d ar k of birth go an d enter t h e soul s
bleak weath er .
e h e o An d I , I will not stay d ad , though t e d ad cling t
me, I will put away the kisses an d t he soft embraces an d t he e walls th at ncomp ass me, An d out of this womb I will surely move to t he world of
my s pirit . e I will lose my lif to find it, as of old ,
r t he e- lie e he Yea, I will turn f om lif I liv d to t truth I
fo w as wrought r,
a s And I will t ake the cre tor within , ower of t he seed of
r e the ac ,
And m ake him a god , sh aper of civiliz ation .
’ r s r Now on my soul s impe ious u ge, e n d T a king the ris k, as of d ath , a in deepening twilight, I ride on t he d ar kening flood an d go out on the water s
286
THE GOLDEN TREASURY
To a Dead Soldier
HOUGH all t he pr imrose paths of morning called e n d ll Your f et to follow th em , a a the winds all e Of the hills of arth , with plucking h ands
Wooed you to l pes th at shone like em erald ,
r e r You might not go . T he thin g e n g ass th at binds
Your feet had Earth an d Death to forge its bands .
’ T he a wet r s la r in s kiss is on you lip , where y ’ Once the live pulses of a wom an s soul ; Your eyes give back unto t h e quiet sky
he ee e Only t sh n of star s, the glar of day , Or d arkness wh en t he kindly sh adows 1 0 1!
e sea Up from t h to hide you where you lie .
’ No wom an s whisper hold s you r s trong heart spent
t h e s e s a e An d breathless . All ilv r horn th t bl w
e s . T ese a e Whil legion cheered , are still h things re don , f e But these you h ave : a d eath o r monum nt, d d An peace you died to buy, an after you
T he laughing play of children in t he sun . The Eliot Litera ry Magazin e K en dall Ha rris on
The Death of the Hired Man
ARY s at mu s ing on the l amp- flame at t he table
Waiting fo r Warren . When s he heard his step , She r an on tip- toe down t he d ar kened p assage To meet him in t h e doorway with the news “ ” An d put him on his guard . Silas is back .
288 OF MAGAZINE VERSE
She pushed him outward with her th rough the door “ ” An r . a . d shut it after he Be kind , she s id ’ She took t he m ar ket things from Warren s arms
r An d set them on t he po ch , then d rew him down
T o s it beside her on t he wooden steps .
When w as I ever anything but kind to him ? ’ ”
h s . But I ll not have t he fellow back , e aid ’ o s n ? I told him s la t h aying, did t I ‘ ’ ‘ ’ If h e left then , I s aid , th at ended it . Wh at good is he ? Who els e will h ar bor him At his ag e fo r t he little he can do ? ’ Wh at help he is there s no de pending on .
Off he goes always when I need him most . ‘ He ar a e a thinks he ought to e n littl p y , E nough at leas t to buy tobacco with , ’ ’ So he won t h ave to beg an d be be holden . ‘ ’ ‘ ’ Al a a r l right , I s ay , I c n t ffo d to pay ’ x s Any fi ed wage , though I wis h I could . ‘ ’ ‘ n m Someone els e ca . Then so eone else will h ave
’ I should n t mind his betterrn g himself
a was a w s . can b r If th t wh t it a You e ce ta in , ’ h e When e begins lik that, there s someone at him
T x o ff e - e rying to coa him with pock t mon y,
a e n In h ying tim , when a y help is scarce . ’
er h s . In wint e come b ack to us I m done .
’ ! so : e ear Sh not loud h ll h you , M ary said . ’ ” a : I w nt him to he ll h ave to soon or late .
’ H ’ He s . e s ee e worn out asl p b sid e t he stove : ’ e a e r R e Wh n I c m up f om ow s I found him here, THE GOLDEN TREASURY
a a b m- Huddled g inst the a door fast asleep,
ser e n d A mi abl sight, a fr ightening, too ’ ’ You need n t smile I did n t recogniz e him ’ ’ w as n t an d a e I looking for him he s ch ng d .
Wait till you see .
’ Where did you s ay he d been ?
’
n . r e He did t say I d agg d him to t he hous e,
a e t ea an d r e e s And g v him t i d to m ak him moke .
r e I t i d to m ake him talk about his tr avels .
N : h e e othing would do just k pt nodding off.
Wh at did you s ay ? Did he say anything ?
But little .
A ? nything M ary, confess ’ He a e t he ea s id he d com to ditch m dow for me .
Warren !
? s But did he I ju t want to know .
e h Of cours e did . Wh at would you h ave him s ay ? ’ Su rely you would n t gr udge t he poor old man
S e e w a a e e - r s om humbl y to s v his s lf e pect .
He a e rea e dd d , if you lly car to know,
He ea ear t he er s re m nt to cl upp p a tu , too . T h at sounds like somethin g you h ave hear d before ?
arre s h w W n , I wi h you could h ave heard t e ay
He jumbled everythin g . I s topped to look T wo o r th ree times he m ade me feel so queer
T o s ee if h e was talking in his s leep . 290
' THE GOLDEN TREASURY
’ ’ a a I know, th t s Sil s one accomplishment .
He bundles every forkful in its place, n d fo r r re e And tags a numbers it futu e fer nce, So he can fin d an d easily dislodge it
In the unloading . Silas does th at well . ’ e He takes it out in bunch s like big birds nests . You never see him standing on t he h ay ’ n r s He s tryi g to lift, st aining to lift him elf.
“ ’ He ea thinks if he could t ch him th at, he d be
e e e e Som good p rh aps to som on in t he world .
He h ates to see a boy t he fool of books .
e f Poor Silas, so concern d o r other folks,
r An d nothing to look backwa d to with pr ide,
r e An d nothing to look for wa d to with hop , ” n So n ow an d never a y different .
r w as a Pa t of a moon f lling down the west,
Dr agging t he whole s ky with it to t he hills .
Its light pou red softly in her lap. She saw She e An d spread her apron to it . put out h r h and
- - s Among t he h arp like morning glory string ,
e bed e es Taut with t he dew from gard n to av , As if s he pl ayed unh eard t he tendernes s
T e h at wrought on him bes ide her in t h night . “ ” “ s s e e die Warren , he s aid , he h a com hom to ’ ’ You need n t be afraid h e ll leave you this time .
“
e e e . Home, h mock d g ntly
me . Yes , wh at else but ho
l s ea e It a l depend on wh at you m n by hom . ’ s us a r Of course h e nothing to , n y mo e T h an w as t h e hound th at cam e a stranger to us
r e Out of the woods, wo n out upon t h trail . 2 92 OF MAGAZINE VERSE
Home is the place wh ere, when you h ave to go there, ” e They hav to take you in .
I should h ave called -it ’ ” Something you some how h ave n t to deserve .
e n s o Warren lean d out a d took a tep or tw ,
e n d . Picked up a littl s tick , a brought it back d An broke it in his h and an d tossed it by . “ Silas h as better claim on us you think T h an on his broth er ? T hir teen little miles
As the road wind s would bring him to his door .
- Silas h as walked that far no doubt to day . ’ ’ n Why did t he go there ? His brother s rich , ” A some body director in the bank .
e He nev r told us th at .
We know it though .
I think his brother ought to help , of cou rse . ’ ee I ll s to th at if there is need . He ought of right
n To take him in , a d might be willing to
He ma be e er a ara y b tt th n appe nces .
e s But h av ome pity on Silas . Do you think ’ If he d had an y pride in cl aiming kin
a e e fo r Or nything h look d from his brother, ’ ” He d keep so still about him all this time ?
’ I wonder wh at s between them ?
c n e I a t ll you . ’ Sil as is wh at he is we would n t mind him ’ a s But just the kind th t kin folk can t abide . THE GOLDEN TREASURY
He n ever did a thing so very bad. ’ ’ He don t know why he is n t quite as goo d ’ a a a e As anyone . He won t be m de sh m d
e To please his brother, worthl s s though he is .
“ ’ I can t think Si ever hurt anyone .
No he r e r t he w a he la , but hu t my h a t y y
n d r e is s a - e - A oll d h old head on th at h r p edg d ch air back . ’ He n t le e he e would t m put him on t loung .
You mus t go in an d see wh at you c an do .
he bed fo r e - I m ade t up him ther to night . ’ ’ s You ll be su rpri ed at him how much h e s broken . ’ ” His working d ays are done ; I m sure of it .
“ ’ be I d not in a hurry to s ay that .
’ n e n s fo r a e t e . ee I h v b Go, look , yourself.
r e e s e emem er i But , Wa r n , pl a r b how it s ’ He s come to help you ditch t he meadow . ’ s n He h as a plan . You mu t t l augh at him .
e s e n d e h e ma . H may not p ak of it, a th n y ’ I ll s it an d see if th at s m all s ailing cloud
Will hit o r miss the moon .
t he It hit moon .
ee ere a a dim o w Th en there were th r th , m king r ,
e e s er an d s he . T h e moon , t h littl ilv cloud ,
s see e e Warren retu rned too o on , it m d to h r, d e her a an a . Slipped to her s id , caught up h nd w ited
e e . Warren , s he qu stion d
ea w as all he e D d, answ red . The New Republic Robert F rost 294
THE GOLDEN TREASURY
Co me, girl, my comrade
e - Stand clos , sun tanned one, with your bright eyes lifted Behold this dus t This is you : this of t he E ar th und er o ur feet is you R aised by wh at mir acle ? sh aped by wh at m agic ? B reathed into by wh at god ?
e a e o n e e se m And a hundr d ye rs h nce lik my lf ay come,
An d n d a t he e stoop , a t ke a h andful of yi lding Earth, And never d ream th at in his p alm Lies s he th at l augh ed an d ran an d lived bes ide this sea
On an afternoon a hundred years before .
Listen to t h e dust in this h and Who is trying to speak to us ? The Cen tury Maga zin e fa me: Oppen heim
1 Have a Ren dezvous with Death
HAVE a rend ez vous with Death
r e At some disputed bar icad , When Spring comes back with rustling shade And apple- blos soms fill the air I h ave a rendez vous with Death S When pring br ings back blue d ays an d fair .
It may be he s h all take my h and An d lead me into his d ar k l and An d close my eyes an d quench my breat h
It may be I sh all p ass him still . I h ave a rendez vous with De ath
e e e a e On som sc arr d s lop of b tt red hill , 296 OF MAGAZINE VERSE
When Spring comes round again this year
- And the first meadow flowers appear .
’ God knows t were better to be deep w Pillowed in s ilk an d s cented do n , e Wh ere love th robs out in blis s ful sl ep,
e n d re rea Puls e nigh to puls , a b ath to b th, Where hushed awakenings are dear ’ But I v e a rendezvous with Death
At midnight in some fl aming town ,
When Spring trips north again this year,
An d I to my pledged word am true,
I sh all not fail th at rendez vous . The North Amer ica n Review Alan S eeger
The S ecret
w n d was HEY drew the blinds do n , a the house old n d With sh adows, a so cold ,
Filled up with shuddery silence like held breath . An d when I grew quite bold
e was a . And asked them why, t h y said that this de th
T hey walked tiptoe about the house that day An d turned their heads away
Each time I passed . I s at down in surprise
And quite forgot to play,
Seeing them pass with wonder in their eyes .
My mother came into my roo m that night Holding a shaded light THE GOLDEN T REASURY
Abo ve my face till she was sure I slept; l But I ay still with fright, ar her r a an d He ing b e th, knowing th at she wept.
An d a er a ft w rd , with not a one to see, I got up quietly An d tr ied each step I m ade with my b are feet Until it s eemed to me
T a all t he air r s r w n d s h t g ew o ro ful a weet .
rea e So without b thing I w nt down the stair,
In t he light chilly air,
he r r Into t p a lo , where the perfumes led, I lit my candle there
An d e e e h ld it a long tim a bove my h ad .
T ere w s n d e h a a oblong bo x, an at its bas Grew lilies in a vase
s e s e A whit a they . I thought them v ry tall
s c a s a e In u h li tening pl c , An d e w e th y th re fear ful sh adows on t h wall .
e e I tipto d to t he bo x, then , sil ntly, T o look wh at d eath could be ;
n d w s A then I smiled , fo r it a father who
W s ee as l ping quietly,
He re e f e w s s d am d , I think, o r h a miling,
An d all at once I knew death is a thing
s w s Th at stoop do n , whi pering
A e r r e se re r e d a , fo gott n c t in you ar
n Such as t he winds can s i g . An d then you sleep an d dr eam an d h ave 298
THE GOLDEN TREASURY
Oh, fragrantly T he airs of earth arise
In waking hou rs of light , While v agrantly Sea symphonies Of changing sound sur prise; Till fo r a sp ace one goes Beyond the salt an d snows
es - And claim ant tid along the wide stretched beach,
Beyond the last, faint reach n d Of odor, sight a sound , far forth far forth Where neither South n o r North w Points do n the roads unguessed, er Wh e E ast is not, nor West :
At night down roads of sleep,
Of dreamless sleep, ll Past a the compassed ways the reason tells,
To unknown citadels . III
’ n d - Just as one turns , a while d ay s dusk breathed
n d - e A music, m any d appled , m rge in flight, e o n e H alf in a dr am , finds a tale is true ’ e d . That down one s m mory sings , still an light e Just as t h spirit turns, H alf- d reaming o n e discerns Deeply t he tale is tr ue Th at long ag o o n e knew Of how a merm aid loved a mortal knight ; An d e e how, unless she di d , s h still must change, g oo OF MAGAZINE VERSE
d And leave his hum an ways, an go alone At intervals where seas unfathomed range ’ Through cor al groves around t he ocean s throne,
e - e e Wh re cool arm d m rm aids dive through crystal hours, r i And b aid their streaming h air w th pearls, an d sing
he n e r- Among t green a d cl a lit water flowers, e The luc nt splendors of their ocean kin g.
e Like h rs o ur ways on ea rth , u d Who, from o r ay of birth ,
die e Would , unless we sl pt die e r Must , unl ss for hou s, ’ ers Beyond our senses pow ,
e Down soundless sp ace we l apt .
Beyond the deepest roll ’ ’ s n d e Of pain a r apture s sw ep, Where goes the hum an soul Th at vanishes in sleep ?
’ Down dreamles s paths unguessed , beyond the senses
powers, n d Beyond t he breath of fragrance, sound a light,
As s once th rough crystal, unremembered hour The merm aid dived who loved a mortal knight Far forth far forth
Beyond the South or North, THE GOLDEN TREASURY
a all P st the compassed ways the day has shown , n d w To live divine a deep at night do n roads of sleep,
In citadels unknown . P oetry : A Magazin e of Verr e Edith W y att
A Memorial Tablet
A a ho les a r h oh, g t c , f e t ee well
AKED an d brave thou goest Without o n e gl ance be hind !
s e H a t thou no fear , Agathocl s, Or backward grief of mind ?
The d reamy dog beside thee Presses agains t thy kn ee ;
He ee A e , too, oh , sw t gathocl s,
e n d s e Is d af a vi ion d like thee .
Thou art so lithe an d lovely
An d y et thou art not ours . Wh at Delphic s aying compels thee Of kings o r topless towers ?
T h at little blowing m antle T hou losest from thine arm
n ff A es No s hoon o r s ta , gathocl , r h r l No r sword , to fend f om a m
Thou h as t the ch anged imperson al Awed brow of mystery
T HE GOLDEN TREASURY
It had no dream to sing Of ultimate liberty;
Fashioned for suffering,
e To endure transi ntly, And conscious th at it must R r s etu n a dust to dust .
It blossomed a brief hour,
s n d W as ro y, warm a strong; e e It went lik a wilt d flower, e e It end d lik a song, Some one closed a door w And it as seen no more .
The grass is very kind ; !It knows so m any dead !) Those whom it covers fin d Their wild hearts comforted ; Their pulses need not meet ’ The spirit s speed an d heat .
Here lies the flesh th at held The spirit prisoner
A caged thing th at rebelled, Forced to subminister ; Bro ken it had to be;
To set its captive free .
It is very gl ad to res t, d It calls to roots an rain, 30 4 OF MAGAZINE VERSE
’ Safe in its mot her s breast,
Ready to bloom again . After a day an d an hour ’ T will greet the sun a flower . Louis e Dr is coll
i HERE are the friends th at I knew in my M ay ng, ? In the d ays of my youth, in the first of my roaming
We were dear; we were leal ; 0 , far we went straying; Now never a heart to my heart comes homing ! er Where is he now, the d ark boy slend
- s r Who taught me bare back, ti rup an d reins ?
I loved him ; he loved me ; my beautiful, tend er
- Tamer of horses on grass grown plains .
w Where is he now whose eyes s am brighter,
Softer th an love, in his turbulent ch arms ; d e r Who t aught me to strike, an to fall, d a fight er, And gathered me up in his boyhood arms ; me Taught me the rifle, an d with went riding, ’ Suppled my limbs to the horsem an s w ar ; ’ Where is he now, for whom my heart s biding,
s Biding, biding but he ride farl
O love th at passes the love of wom an !
Who th at hath felt it sh all ever forget, r e When the b eath of lif with a throb turns hum an, ’ ’ And a lad s heart is to a lad s heart set ? THE GOLDEN TREASURY
n d Ever, forever, lover a rover
They sh all cling, nor each from other shall part
Till the reign of the stars in the heavens be over, And life is dust in each faithful heart !
r T hey are dead , the American g asses under; There is no one now who presses my side;
By the African chotts I am riding asunder,
And with great joy ride I t he last great ride . I am fey ; I am fain of sudden dying; T housands of miles there is no one near;
And my heart all t he night it is crying, crying
- In t he bosoms of dead lads d arling dear.
Hearts of my music them d ark earth covers ; o r Comrades to die, an d to die f , were they; In t he width of the world there were no such rovers
s ea s s B ack to back, brea t to br st, it wa ours to tay ; e was th e a e And the highest on art h vow th t we ch rished , T o spur forth from t he crowd an d come back neve r
more, And to ride in the track of great souls perished ’ T ill the nests of the lar k shall roof us o er.
Yet lingers a horsem an on Altai highl ands, e Who h ath joy of me, riding t h Tartar glissade; ’ o er r e s a And o n e, far faring o i nt i l nds ’ Whose blood y et glints with my blad e s accol ade;
s North , west, east, I fling you my l a t h allooing, Las t love to the breas ts wh ere my own h as bled ; T hrough the reach of th e desert my soul leaps purs uing
o f D My star where it r ises a Star the ead . ’ S cr ibn er s Magazin e George Edward W oodber ry 30 6
THE GOLDEN TREASURY
The Unknown Brothers
INGING band by song united When the blue [Eg ean plains Girdled isles where love rs lighted ’ Lamps in Ky pris seaward fanes ;
r s e Singing B other , art h enfolden, W h at of you an d of your olden Music now ? What still remains ?
Scattered blooms, surviving only he As t petal holds the rose, In the gard en where the lonely Scarlet flower of S appho blows; And of some no single token
Leaf or bud, or blossom broken
Now the mounded garden shows .
W as there lack of exaltation In the bu rden of their song ? Had they les s of consecration ? Proved the p ath of Beauty long ? Did they pause fo r pleasant resting ? Swe rve or falter in their questing ? H ave the ages done them wrong ?
Some there may h ave been who faltered n By t he bright E g ea foam, Seeing life with vision altered As the soul forgot its home; 30 8 OF MAGAZINE VERSE
Some it may be in confusion, ’ s After youth s divine illu ion ,
Turned to till t he kindly loam .
Some there are in all the ages Lonely vigil fail to kee p ; ’ Some allured by wisdom s p ages Ch art t he sky an d sound t he deep ; Some give up t he long foregoing
Hum an touches, reaping, sowing
Some with S appho take the leap .
e But the most wait un r pining,
Hopeful when all hope is fled, For fulfilment of the shining
D s f e awn th at linger ar ah ad ,
s re And , by p ath of no turning
- Where th e heart h fires are not burning,
M arch comp anioned by the dead .
Through neglect o r loud derision ,
e - Mock d at by the worldly wise,
Bearing bu rdens of mis prision , n Seeking truth a d finding lies, Follow they the glow or glimmer Of t h e vis ion growing dimmer
e - s s As th death mi t fill their eyes .
e i Nev r can you be req u red,
r er s Unknown B oth s, taunch an d brave;
You t he bitter gods h ave slighted, e e Only half th ir gift th y gave, THE GOLDEN TREASURY
h Gave t e patience o f endeavor, r Kept f uition back forever,
Felled the cypress by your grave.
You are passed , but unknown brothers,
Finding faith of small avail ,
Follow now as followed others,
And I p ause to bid them h ail . r e e B oth rs ar they in believing, e e re Som it may b a achieving,
But they triumph though they fail . man B ook Louis V.
The Mon k in the K itchen
RDER is a lovely thing;
On disarr ay it l ays its wing,
Teaching simplicity to sing . s e It h a a meek an d lowly grac , ’ Quiet as a nun s face . Lo I will h ave thee in this place l e ee Tr anquil w ll of d p delight,
T ransp arent as t he water, bright All things th at shine th rough thee appear e As stones through water, swe tly clear
T hou clarity, Th at with angelic ch arity
Rev eales t beauty where thou art ,
Spread thyself like a clean pool . 3m
THE GOLDEN TREASURY
e n Sh ape, t h strong a d awful Spirit,
Laid his ancient h and on you . He waste ch aos doth inherit; n He can alter a d subdue .
Verily, he doth lift up
M atter, like a sacred cup .
ee s e Into d p sub tanc he reached , an d lo
Where y e were not, y e were ; an d so
Out of useless nothing, y e r a an d a an d be G o ned l ughed came to . n And I use you , as I ca ,
Wonderful uses, m ade for man ,
Iron pot an d brazen pan .
Wh at are ye ? I know not ; Nor wh at I really do e n d e W hen I mov a gov rn you . Go d There is no sm all wor k unto . He requires of us grea tness ; Of his least creat u re
A high angelic n ature,
Stature superb an d brigh t complet en ess . He e s ts to us no humble dutv . E ach act th at he would h ave us do Is h aloed r ound with stranges t beauty Terrific deeds an d cosmic tasks
a es Of his pl in t child he asks . When I polish the brazen pan
312. OF MAGAZINE VERSE
I hear a creature laugh afar
In the gardens o f a star, And from his burnin g presence run
Flaming wheels of m any a sun .
Whoever m akes a thing more bright, ll He is an angel of a light . When I cleanse this eart hen floor My spirit leaps to see
Bright garments trailing over it,
A cleanness m ade by me . ’ n d Pu rger of all men s thoughts a ways,
With labor do I so und Thy praise,
My work is done fo r Thee .
Whoever m akes a thing more bright,
He is an angel of all light . Therefore let me spread abroad
The beautiful cleanness of my God.
One time in the cool of d awn
A e e a d r ng ls cam n wo ked with me. T he air w s a soft with many a wing. They laughed amid my solitude An d a r c st b ight looks on everything . Sweetly o f me did they as k Th at they might do my common task And all were beau tiful but one Wit h garments whiter than the s un Had such a face
Of deep, remembered grace , Th at when I s aw I cried Tho u art a o - o f The gre t Bl od Brother my heart . THE GOLDEN TREASURY
” — ' - ? W here hav e I seen thee An d he said, “ ’ When we are d anc ing ro und Go d s throne,
How often thou art there. Beauties from thy h ands h ave flown
Like white doves wheeling in mid air . Nay thy soul remembers not ?
Wo rk o n , an d clean se thy iron po t .
kn What are we ? I ow not. The Crafts man An n a Hempstead B ran ch
Doors
’ IKE a young child who at his mother s door
Runs eager fo r t he welcoming embrace, n w a An d finds the door shut, a d ith troubled f ce ’ ’ n d er Calls an d through sobbing calls, an d o er a o
Calling, storms at the panel so before n A door that will o t open , sick an d numb,
I listen for a word th at will not come, n And k ow at l ast, I may not enter more .
Silence ! And th rough the silence an d the d ark a e ea By th t clos d door, t he distant sob of t rs a Be ts on my spirit, as on fairy shores e ! The spectral s a ; an d through the sobbing, h ark
- Down the fair ch ambered corridor of years,
The quiet shutting, one by one, of doors . North Amer ican Review Herman n Hagedorn
INDEX OF AUTHORS
Man n Dorot ea Lawren ce 6 , h
Masters . Edgar Lee 136, 238 Mid leton Scu er 15 1 d , dd Mitchell Ruth om ort , C f
Morto n , Dav id 282
Norton Grace allow 7 1 , F ’ O B rien Edward . , J ’ O Neil , Dav id . 72, 73, 74 O en heim ames pp . J
0 Sheel, Shaemas
Patto n Mar aret ren ch 63 , g F Peabo os e hin e Pres ton dy , J p Pi er Edwin ord 228 p , F Robin so n ori n n e Roose v elt , C win Arlin ton Ro binso n , Ed g
San dbur arl g , C Scollard lin ton , C
ard Odell Shep .
Stev en s . W allace h Syford , Et el
T easdale . Sa ra
T ietjens , Eun ice 2 22 9 T orren ce , Ridgely 07, 0 . 25 , 262 T own e harles Han so n 5 0 . C T witchell An n a S encer 62 , p n terme er Lo uis 9 280 U y , , W harton E ith 260 , d H 26 42 W h eelock oh n all . , J , W oodberr Geo r e Edwar 22 37 305 y , g d , , W ri h t uth ert 33 g , C b W att E ith 260 y , d IN D EX OF POEMS
e Adv en turer , T he Od ll S hepard Amaze Adelaide Cropsey An As tron omer
As h W edn d ohn E rskin e es ay . J Autoch thon Edgar Lee Masters
B accha n te to Her abe T h e E un ice Tiet ens B , j T ea Barter . S ara sdale B attle Sleep Edith W harton Bitches Robert Frost
Bird an d th e T ree, T he Ridgely T orren ce
B on fire T he Robert rost , F Brok en ield T he F , Cassan dra Edwin Arlin gton Robinson hin es e Ni h tin ale T h e Vachel Lin dsa C g g , y Cin q uains Adelaide Cropsey it of allin Leav es T he C y F g , S cudder Middleton
Elizabeth S ewell Hill
Geo rge Edwa rd W oodberry Carl S an dburg Josephin e P res ton P ea body David Morton Robert Fros t Josephin e P reston P eabody Herman n Hagedo rn John Hall t eloek
S arah N . Cleghorn Louise D riscoll Con rad Aiken Ridgely T or ren ce W illiamS tanley Braithwa ite Ey e-W itn ess Ridge! y Torren ce l f Fie d o Glory , T h e Edwin Arlin gton Robinson Fig ht P ercy Mackaye Flammonde Edwin Arlin gton Robin son
Flig ht, The George Edward W oodber ry INDEX OF POEMS
From a Motor in May Corin ne Roosevelt Robin son Ga heart a Sto r of De ea t Dana urn et y , y f B Gen eral W illiam Booth En ters in to Heav en Vachel Lin dsay
Gi t of Go d T h e Edwin Arli to n f , n g Robin son Good Compan y K arle W ilson Baker “ ” Gran dmither T hin k Not or et W illa S ibert ather , I F g C Griev e Not Ladies An na Hem stead ran ch , p B Guns as Ke s : An d the Great Gate Swin s Am ow y g y L ell .
Han d ul of D ust A a mes O en heim f , J pp Harv est- Moo n : 19 14 ose hin e P res to n P ab d J p e o y . He W h om a D ream Hath Possessed S haema s OS heel
’ Heig hts , T h e David O N eil
Hill W i e T h e Robert rost f , F Horse- T hie T h e W illiamRose en et f , B Hun g arian Lov e- Lamen t Ethel S yford D m r Hy mn to e ete Louis V. Ledoux “ Hav e a Ren dezv ous withDea th Alan S ee er I g J , ” Immo rtal Lo v e Geo rge Edward W oodberry In th e Ro man Forum Amelia Josephin e Bur r In dian Pipe Floren ce Ea rle Coates n ter reter T h e Orrick ohns I p , J 1777 Amy Lotvell
Kin of D reams T h e lin ton S collard g , C Lan dsca pes Louis Un termeyer Laug hin g it Out W illiamS ta nley B raithwaite
esser hildren T h e Rid el T or ren ce L C , g y u V Le ux Letters fro mEgy pt Lo is . do Lik en ess A W illa S ibert ather , C Lin coln John Gould Fletcher a ra T easdale Look , T h e S ’ B ri Magic Edwa rd J . O en Mean while Edwin Ford P iper
Memorial T ablet , A Floren ce W ilkin son Evan s Memo ries of W h itman an d Lin coln James Oppen heim ’ Mess ages David O N eil
r on rad Aiken Mi acles . C Mon k i n th e Kitchen T h e An na Hem stead ran ch , p B Moth erh ood Agn es Lee
Moun tain Gatewa A Bliss a rma n y , C ’ Moo ds David O N eil Mo on -S ha dows Adela ide Cropsey N ew Plato n is t T h e uthbert W ri ht , C g N eedle-T rav el Marg aret Fren ch P atto n N i h t Co urt T h e Ruth om ort Mitchell g , C f 31 8
INDEX OF POEMS
T wo Songs in Spring
nco n uered Air T h e . Floren ce Earle oates U q . C n k nown Belov ed T he ohn Hall W heelock U , J
n k nown ro thers T h e Lo uis V. Ledoux U B , ’ Vase of hinese v or A David O N eil C I y , W aiting Charles Han son Tawne Adela ide Crapsey
W ay , T h e W illiamS tanley B ra ithwa ite W e Dead W e who were Lo v ers of Life W i e T h e An n a S encer Twitchell f , p W in ter Scen e T h e liss arma n . B C W ith assock lack Baret an d ook Grace Fallow N orton C B , B Yan k ee Doodle Vachel Lin dsay Yello w Clov er Katharin e Lee Bates
320 IN D EX O F F IRST LINES
’ David O Neil
’ - w Olive T il ord Dar an A Red cap sang in Bis hop 8 oo d . f g B ea uty calls an d giv es n o warn ing Ridgely T or ren ce B lack bird blackbir 1n the ca e Ril el Tor ren ce , d g g y B lessed with a joy that on ly she Edwin Arlin gton Robin son B oo th led bo ldly with his big brass drum Va chel Lin dsay
rt i Call Rose Cos tara l Ruth Comfo M tchell . Come s rite an d dan ce! T he sun is u Eun ice T iet ens p , p j old man in who m n o an ima tin ra Dana urn et C , g y B D awn this morn ing burn ed all red Vachel Lindsay D o wn by th e railroad in a g reen v alley Ridgely T or rq sce
Due Eas t , far W es t . Dis tan t as th e n ests of o pposite win ds Amy Lo well
Dweller among leav es , an d shin ing twilig ht boug hs Olive Tilford Dargan ’
Ed rd . O B rien Ebb on with me across th e sunset tide . wa J Eag er n ight an d th e impetuous win ds Lo uis Un termeyer Ga heart came in un e saw his heels Dana urn et y J , I B ran dmith er th in k n ot or et when G , I f g , I come back to to wn W illa S ibert Cather Grassho er our air son ohn Hall W heelock pp , y f y g J horn Half way up the Hemlock v alley turn pik e S a rah N . Cleg ’ Hark y e ! Hush y e ! Marg ot s dead ! Ruth Comfort Mitchell Hark y ou such soun d as q uiv ers ? Kings will hear Mahlon Leonard Fisher Has n ot the glamoured sea so n come once more He could n ot tell th e way h e came W illia mS ta nley B ra ithwaite He did n ot come in the red dawn Odell S hepard He had a whim an d lau h ed it out W illiam S tanle raithwaite , g y B ’ al David O Neil He plodded ong . He sees th e wi e rom slim oun co melin es s An na S en cer Twitchell f , f y g p He who m a drea m hath possessed kn oweth n o more of doubtin g Here 1n the lon ely chapel I will wait fl h h tri Here lies th e es t at ed . INDEX OF FIRST LINES
" “ How how h e sai . rien ha , , d F d C ng , I Vachel Lindsay I dreamed I passed a doorway John Hall W heelock I hav e a ren dezv ous with death Alan S eeger I hav e k n own the silen ce of th e stars an d of th e sea Edgar Lee Mas ters I h eard an old farm-wife Ridgely T or ren ce heard o n e wh o said: Veril win Arl I y , Ed in gton Robin son I kissed a kiss in y outh W illiamS ta n ley Braithwaite k n ow Adela ide Cra se I p y . I k n o w a v ale wh ere I would go on e day Bliss Carman ’ r I an in to th e sun set lig h t Edwa rd J . O B r ien I sit at home an d sew Margaret F ren ch P atton I stoo ped to th e s ilen t earth an d lifteda ha n ul of us ames O en hei df d t . J pp m I think that I shall n ev er see Joyce K ilmer I walk down the g arden paths Amy Laurell was a oddess ere th e mar e me A n es Lee I g bl foun d . g In a rude coun try some four th ousan d miles Edgar Lee Masters In ca me the moo n an d cov ered me with won der W itter Byn n er In ev ery lin e a supple bea uty W illa S ibert Cather In th e h ea rt o f th e fores t aris in g Floren ce Earle Coates In th e middle o f Augus t wh en the south wes t win d Ridgely T orren ce ’ In the museum David O Neil
In th e ale mauv e twili h t streak ed with p g , o rang e Con rad Aiken In the v ery ea rly morn ing wh en th e lig ht w ri k ohn s was lo Or c J . Jock hit his mitten s 0 5 an d blew his th umbs P ercy Ma kaye fi alla ce tevens Jus t as my ng ers o n th ese k ey s W S . Just n ow Adelaide Crapsey ’ Las t summer Co lumbused oh n in Pra ue I J , g , th at deadly Bush Leag ue to wn Ruth Comfort Mitchell Leav es fall Life has lov elin es s to sell S ara T ea sdale Li e a aun t scra l in e ohn Gould letcher f g , gg y p J F ’ Lik e a y oung child wh o at his mo ther s doo r Herma n n Hagedorn Lilacs shall bloo m for W alt W hitman James Oppen heim
Locate our lov e o u lose our lov e . W itter un er y , y y By Lo rd Gabriel wilt th ou n ot re o ice ose hin e P reston P ea bod , j J p y Mary sat mus in g o n th e lamp -flame at th e table Robert Frost 32 2
INDEX OF FIRST LINES
T he throats of the little red trumpet-dowers are wide open Amy Lowell 208 T he zon es of warmth aroun d his heart W illiamS tanley Braithwaite 109 T h ere he mov ed cro in the rass at the , pp g g ’ pur ple can y on s lip W illiam Rose B en tt Donald Evans
T hese be
T h e rew the blin s own an d the house y d d d , r derick F F e aust .
- T h ey hav e hauled in the gang plan k. T he breas t-lin e crawls back Elizabeth S ewell Hill T h ey say the cran es last night did cry T h e wen orth to attle but th e alwa s y t f b , y y l fe l . T his 13 the garden of our joy ous care Amel ia Josephin e Burr T h ough all the primrose pa th s of morn ing called T o -day I ha v e grown taller from walk ing with the trees K arle W ilson Baker
T wili h t is s acious n ear thin s in it seemfar on rad Aiken g p , g C T wo an d two are our our an d three are f , f seven S sudder Middleton T wo roads div erg ed in a y ellow woo d Robert Frost n der the eav es out of th e wet W itter D n n er U , y W ar shook th e lan d where Lev i dwelt Edwin Arlin ton Robinson , g
W e who were lov ers of li e who were on f , f d s : o f th e h earth a n d h ome lan d Loui V. Ledoua W eav e the dan ce an d raise a ain th e sacre , g d
ch orus Louis V. Ledouo: W h en Abraham Lin coln was shov eled in to th e to mbs W h en fro m the broodin g h ome James Oppenheim W h en I see birch es ben d to left a n d rig ht Robert Frost W h ere are the frien ds that I k n ew in my Mayin g George Edwa rd W oodberry W h ere I g o Edith W yatt W ith cassock black ba ret an d book Gra ce allow Norton . F erse it sh o ce Kilmer W ithin th e J y C y ed J y . W ould I were o n th e sea-lan ds Orrick John s W hy do Adela ide Cro psey Youth !