Varios, Poetry I, 6

7/30/2019 Varios, Poetry I, 6

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CONTENTSThe Silent House - Agnes LeeTwo Poems - - Edmund Kemper BroadusSanta Barbara Beach - Ridgely TorrenceMaternity . . . Alice MeynellThree Poems - - Fannie Steams DavisFour Poem s - Samuel McCoy"The Hill Flowers' - - - Alfred NoyesEditorial CommentThe Servian Epic ImagismeA Few Don'ts byan ImagisteNotes and Announcements

643 Cass Street, ChicagoCopyright 1913 by Harriet M onr oe. AUrightreserved

March MCM XIIIEdited an d Pub lished by H ar ri et Monroe. Entered as second-class m at te r at Postoffice, Chicago.


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MARCH, 1913T H E S I L E N T H O U S E

David. [Re-reading a letter.] How may a letter brings u c h d a r k n e s s d o w n

W i t h t h i s : " S h e d a l l i e d w i t h y o u r l o v e t o o l o n g ! "An d t h i s : " I t i s th e wo rd o f a ll th e to w n :"Co r in n a h as n o so u l , f o r a l l h e r so n g !"

Martha. [Entering with flowers.] O sir, I bring youf laming bergamot ,

And ear ly as te rs , fo r your window-s i l l .An d wh ere I f o u n d th em ? No w y o u ' l l g u ess i t n o t .I v is i ted the garden on the h i l l ,And ga thered t i l l my a rms cou ld ho ld no more .

David. The garden o f the l i t t le s i len t house!Martha. The c i ty lu red her f rom her v iny door .

B u t see , th e flowers h av e stay ed !David. T h ey seem to d ro wse

An d d ream o f o n e th ey lo s t , a p a le r -b lo wn .How fa res the house upon the h i l l ?

Martha. T h e b l i n d sAre fas t o f la te , and a l l a re in te rg rown

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P O E T R Y : A Magazine of VerseWith weedy havoc tossed by searching winds.David. How somber suddenly the sky ! A showerIs in the air.

Martha. I'll light the lamps.David. Not yet .Leave me the beauty of the twilit hour.Martha. Hear the wind rising! Ho w the mooringsfret!

More than a shower is on its way through space.I would not be aboard of yonder barque.[She goes out.]David. Corin na! No w m ay I recall her face.It is my light to think by in the dark.Yes, all my years of study, all the willTenacious to achieve, the tempered strife,The victories attained through patient skill,Lie at the door of one dear human life.And ye t . . . the lette r .Often have I readHow love relumes the flowers and the trees.T r u e ! For my world is newly garmented:Rewards seem slight, and slighter penalties.Daily companionship is more and more.

To make one little good more viable,To lift one load, is worth the heart 's outpour.And sheshe has made all things wonderful.And ye t . . the lette rO to break a spell

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The Silent HouseW h ere in th e s t a r s a r e c ru mb l in g u n to d u s t !T h e r e n e v e r w a s a h o p e I k n o w i t w e l l ,And s t rugg le on , and love because I must .N ev e r a h o p e? Sh a l l ev e r an y sch em e ,H er s ilence , o r a la rm of w r i t te n w ord ,Or v o iced a ssev e ra t io n , sh ak e my d ream?She loves m e! By love ' s ang u ish , I ha ve he ar d!We two f rom our sou l - towers ac ross a va leAre ca l l ing each to each , a le r t , aware .Shall one of us one day the o ther hai l ,And no rep ly be borne upon the a i r?Co r in n a , co me to l ig h t my h ea r t ' s d im p lace !O come to me, Be loved and Besought ,O ' e r grief, o 'e r g ladne ss , even o ' e r de a th ap ac e ,Fo r I co u ld g ree t y o u r p h an to m , so i t b ro u g h tL o v e ' s o wn r ea l i ty ! A song of hersSeems s t r iv ing h i ther , a fa in t v i l lane l leHa l f smo th e red b y th e g a le ' s mad ro i s t e r e r s .She used to s ing i t in the bracken del l .He re i s th e r a in ag a in s t th e win d o w b ea t in gIn h eav y d ro p s th a t p r e sag e wi ld e r s to rm.T h e l ak e i s lo s t w i th in a lu r id sh e e t in g ;The house upon the h i l l has changed i t s fo rm.T h e me lan ch o ly p in e - t r ee s weep in ro ck in g .An d wh a t ' s th a t c l amo r a t th e o u te r d o o r?M a r t h a ! O M a r t h a ! S o m e b o d y is k n o c k i ng ! [Calling.]

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P O E T R Y : A Magazine of VerseMartha. [Re-entering.] You hear the r i l l s tha t downth e g u t t e r s ro a r .David. An d a re y o u d ea f? T h e d o o r g o o p en i t !

Th is i s no n igh t to leave a man ou ts ide!Martha. [Muttering and going toward the door.] A n d

is i t I am growing deaf a b i t ,And b l ind a b i t , wi th o ther i l l -be t ide!Well , I can see to thread a needle s t i l l ,And I can hear the t ick ing o f the c lock ,And I can fe tch a basket f rom the mil l .B u t ha l low me if ever I heard kn oc k!

[She throws the door open. David starts up and rushesforward with outstretched arms.]

David. C o r i n n a ! Y o u , C o r i n n a ! D ren ch ed and co ld !A t las t , a t las t ! B u t how in a ll th e ra i n !M a r t h a ! [Martha stands motionless, unseeing.]

Go o d M a r t h a , y o u a r e g ro win g o ld !D r a w f a s t t h e s h a d e s s h u t o u t t h e h u r r i c a n e .Here , t ak e th e d r ip p in g c lo ak f ro m o u t th e ro o m;Br ing cord ia l f rom the purp le damson p ressed ,An d l igh t the la m ps , the can d les fire the g loom .W h y s tan d y o u g ap in g ? See y o u n o t th e g u es t?

Martha. I o p en ed wid e th e d o o r u n to th e s to rm.But never heard I s tep upon the s i l l .All the b lack night le t in no l iv ing form.I see no gu es t . Lo ok ha rd as e 'er I wil l ,I see none here bu t you and my poor self.

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The Silent HouseDavid. T h e r o o m t h a t w a s m y m o t h e r ' s r o o m p r e p a r e .S p r e a d o u t w a r m g a r m e n t s o n t h e o a k e n shelf

Her gown, the l i t t le shawl she used to wear .[Ma rtha, wide-eyed, bewildered, lights the lamps and

candles and goes out, raising her hands.]Corinna. T h e m o m e n t s I m a y t a r r y f a d e a n d p r e s s .

Someth ing impel led me h i ther , some c lear f lame.T h e y sa id I h ad n o so u l ! O D av id , y e s ,T h e y sa id I ha d no sou l ! A nd so I cam e.I have been s ing ing , s ing ing , a l l the way ,O, s ing ing ever s ince the darkness g rewAnd I grew chil l and fo l lowed the small ray .Lean c lose , and le t my long ing res t in you!

David. Dear b a lm o f l ig h t , I n ev e r th o u g h t to winFro m o u t th e p a l l id h o u r s fo r ev e r th ro b b in g !How d id you know the so r row I was in ?Corinna. A f lock o f leaves came sobb ing , sobb ing ,

s o b b i n g .David. O , now 1 ho ld you fas t , m y love , m y ow n,

M y fe s tiv a l u p lea p in g f ro m an em b e r !But , t imid ch i ld , how cou ld you come a loneAcro ss th e p a th le ss wo o d s ?

Corinna. D o y o u r e m e m b e r ? Ov er th e su mmer l ak e o n e s t a r ry , s t i l ly ,Sweet n igh t , when you and I were d r i f t ing , dear ,I f r ighted a t the shadow of a l i ly!I t i s a l l s t range , bu t now I have no fear .

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P O E T R Y : A Magazine of VerseDavid. You r eyes are weary, drooping. Sleep, the n,sleep.Corinna. I must go over to the silent house.David. The dwelling stands forsaken up the steep,With never beast nor human to arouse!Corinna. Soon will the windows gleam with manylamps.Hark!heavy wheels are toi l ing to the north.David. I will go with you where the darkness ramps.Corinna. Strong arms are in the storm to bear meforth.David. Not in these garments dripping as the trees!Not in these clinging shadows!Corinna. Ah, good-night!Dear love, dear love, I must go forth in these.Tomorrow you shall see me all in white. Agnes Lee

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T H E O R A C L E(To the New Telescope on Mt. Wilson)

Of old sat one at Delphi brooding o'erThe fretful earth;ironically wise,Veiling her prescience in dark replies,She shaped the fates of men with mystic lore.T he oracle is silent now. N o mo reFate parts the cloud that round omniscience lies.But thou, O Seer, dost tease our wild surmiseWith portents passing all the wealth of yore.For thou shalt spell the very thoughts of God!Before thy boundless vision, world on worldShall multiply in glit'ring sequence far;And all the little ways which men have trodShall be as nothing by His star-dust whirledInto the making of a single star.

A G A R G O Y L E O N N O T R E D A M EWith angel's wings and brutish-human form,Weathered with centuries of sun and storm,He crouches yonder on the gallery wall,Monstrous, superb, indifferent, cynical:And all the pulse of Paris cannot stirHer one immutable philosopher.

Edmund Kemper Broadus

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P O E T R Y : A Magazine of VerseSANTA BARBARA BEACH

Now whi le the sunse t o f fe rs ,Sh a l l we n o t t ak e o u r o wn :

The gems, the b lazing coffers ,T h e sea s , th e sh o re s , th e th ro n e?

T h e s k y - s h i p s , r a d i a n t - m a s t e d ,Mo v e o u t , b ea r lo w o u r way .

Oh, L i fe was dark whi le i t la s ted ,N o w f o r e n d u r i n g d a y .N o w w i th th e wo r ld fa r u n d e r ,

T o d raw u p d ro wn in g menAn d sh o w th em lan d s o f wo n d e r

W h ere th ey may b u i ld ag a in .T h e re ea r th ly so r ro w fa l t e r s ,

T h e re lo n g in g h as i t s wag e ;T h e re g leam th e iv o ry a l t a r s

Of our los t p i lg r image . Sw ift f lamethen sh ipw reck s onl y

Beach in the ru ined l igh t ;Ab o v e th em reach u p lo n e ly

T h e h ead lan d s o f th e n ig h t .A h u r t bird cries an d flutters

Her d ab b led b reas t o f b ro wn ;T h e w e s t e r n w a l l u n s h u t t e r s

To f l ing one last rose down.[180]


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Maternity

A rose, a wild light afterAnd life calls through the years,"Who dreams my fountains ' laughterShall feed my wells with tears."Ridgely Torrence

M A T E R N I T YOne wept, whose only babe was dead,New-born ten years ago."Weep not; he is in bliss," they said.She answered, "Even so."Ten years ago was born in painA child, not now forlorn;But oh, ten years ago in vainA mother, a mother was born."Alice Meynell

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P O E T R Y : A Magazine of VerseP R O F I T S

Y e s , s ta rs were wi th me fo rmer ly .( I a lso knew the wind and sea ;And h i l l - tops had my fee t by hear t .T h e i r sh ag g ed h e ig h t s wo u ld s t in g an d s t a r tW h en I came l eap in g o n th e i r b ack s .I k n ew th e ea r th ' s q u ee r c ro o k ed c r ack s ,W h ere h id d en wa te r s weav e a lo w

. A nd dru i d ch an t o f jo y and woe . )But s ta r s were wi th me most o f a l l .I heard them f lame and break and fa l l .The i r exce l len t a r ray , the i r f reeE n c o u n t e r w i t h E t e r n i t y ,I lea rn ed . A nd i t w as good to knowT h a t wh e re Go d wa lk ed , I to o mig h t g o .N ow , a ll these th in gs a re passed . F or IGrow very o ld and g lad to d ie .W h a t d id the y profi t me , say yo u ,T h ese d i s t an t b lo o d le ss th in g s I k n ew?Prof i t? W h a t p ro f it ha th the seaO f h e r d e e p - t h r o a t e d t h r e n o d y ?W h a t p ro fi t h a th th e su n , wh o s t a n d sSta r ing on space wi th id le hands?An d wh a t sh o u ld Go d Himse l f a cq u i r eFrom all the aeons' blood and fire?M y prof i t is as th ei rs : to beM a d e p ro o f a g a i n s t m o r t a l i t y :

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Poems: Fannie Stearns DavisT o k n o w t h a t I h a v e c o m p a n i e dWith a l l tha t sh ines and l ives , amidSo m u c h th e y ea r s s ift th ro u g h th e i r h a n d s ,M o s t m o r t a l , w i n d y , w o r t h l e s s s a n d s .T h i s d a y I h a v e g rea t p eace . W i th m eSh a l l s t a r s ab id e e te rn a l ly !

T W O S O N G S O F C O N N T H E F O O LM O O N F O L L Y

I wi l l g o u p th e mo u n ta in a f t e r th e Mo o n :Sh e is c a u g h t in a de ad fir-tree.L ike a g rea t pa le app le o f s i lver and pear l ,L ike a g rea t pa le app le i s she .I wil l leap and wil l c lasp her in quick cold handsAnd car ry her home in my sack .I wil l se t her down safe on the oaken benchT h a t s t a n d s a t t h e c h i m n e y - b a c k .And then I will sit by the fire all night,And sit by the fire all day.I wi l l g n aw a t th e Mo o n to my h ea r t ' s d e l ig h t ,T i l l I gnaw her s lowly away .An d wh i le I g ro w mad wi th th e Mo o n ' s co ld t a s t e ,T h e W o r ld may b ea t o n my d o o r ,C r y i n g " C o m e o u t ! " a n d c ry in g " M a k e h a s t e !An d g iv e u s th e Mo o n o n ce mo re ! "But I wi l l no t answer them ever a t a l l ;

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P O E T R Y : A Magazine of VerseI will laugh, as I count and hideThe great black beautiful seeds of the MoonIn a flower-pot deep and wide.Then I will lie down and go fast asleep,Drunken with flame and aswoon.But the seeds will sprout, and the seeds will leap:The subtle swift seeds of the Moon.And some day, all of the world that beatsAnd cries at my door, shall seeA thousand moon-leaves sprout from my thatchOn a marvellous white Moon-tree!Then each shall have moons to his heart 's desire:Apples of silver and pearl:Apples of orange and copper fire,Setting his five wits aswirl.And then they will thank me, who mock me now:"Want ing the Moon is he!"Oh, I 'm off to the mountain after the Moon,Ere she falls from the dead fir-tree!

W A R N I N GYou must do nothing falseOr cruel-lipped or low;For I am Conn the Fool,And Conn the Fool will know.

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Poems: Fannie Stearns Davis

I wen t b y th e d o o rW h en Pa t r i ck Jo y ce lo o k ed o u t .He did not wish for me

O r a n y o n e a b o u t .He though t I d id no t see

The fa t bag in h is hand .Bu t Co n n h ea rd c l in k in g g o ld ,

A n d C o n n c o u l d u n d e r s t a n d .I wen t b y th e d o o r

W h e r e M i c h a e l K a n e l a y d e a d .I saw h is Mary t ie

A red shawl round her head .I saw a dark man lean

Acro ss h e r g a rd en -wa l l .T h e y d i d n o t k n o w t h a t C o n n

Walked by a t la te dusk- fa l l .You must no t sco ld o r l ie ,

Or hate or s teal or k i l l ,For I shal l te l l the wind

T h a t l e ap s a lo n g th e h i l l ;And he wil l te l l the s tars

T h a t s in g an d n ev e r l i e ;And they wi l l shou t your s in

In God ' s face , bye and bye .A nd Go d wi l l no t fo rge t ,

For a l l He loves you so .He mad e me Co n n th e Fo o l ,

A n d b a d e m e a l w a y s k n o w ![ 185 ]


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P O E T R Y : A Magazine of VerseS T O R M D A N C E

T h e w a t e r c a m e u p w i t h a r o a r ,T h e w a t e r c a m e u p t o m e .

T h e re was a wav e wi th tu sk s o f a b o a r ,And he gnashed h is tusks on me.

I leaned, I leapt , and was f ree .He snar led and struggled and f led .

Foaming and b l ind he tu rned to the sea ,An d h i s b ro th e r s t r amp led h im d ead .

T h e wa te r came u p wi th a sh r i ek ,T h e w a t e r c a m e u p t o m e .

T h e r e w a s a w a v e w i t h a w o m a n ' s c h e e k ,An d sh e sh u d d e red an d c lu n g to me .

I c rouched , I cas t her away .She cursed me and swooned and d ied .

Her g reen ha i r tang led l ike sea-weed layT o ssed o u t o n th e t ea r in g t id e .

Ch a l l en g e an d ch ase me , S to rm!H a r r y a n d h a t e m e , W a v e !

W i ld a s th e win d i s my h ea r t , b u t wa rm,S u d d e n a n d m e r r y a n d b r a v e .

Fo r th e wa te r co mes u p wi th a sh o u t ,T h e wa te r co mes u p to me .And oh , bu t I laugh , laugh ou t !

And the g rea t gu l ls laugh , and the sea!Fannie Stearns Davis[186]


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Poems: Samuel McCoyD I R G E F O R A D E A D A D M I R A L

What woman but would beRid of thy mastery,Thou bully of the sea?No more the gray sea's breastNeed answer thy behest;No more thy sullen gunShall greet the risen sun,Where the great dreadnaughts rideThe breast of thy cold bride;Thou hast fulfilled thy fate:Need trade no more with hate!Nay, but I celebrateThy long-to-be-lorn mate,Thy mistress and her state,Thy lady sea's lorn state.She hath her emperyNot only over theeBut o'er our misery.Hark, doth she mourn for thee?Nay, what hath she of grief?She knoweth not the leafThat on her bosom falls,Thou last of admirals!

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P O E T R Y : A Magazine of VerseU n d e r th e w i n t e r m o o nShe sing eth th a t fierce tun e,H e r i m m e m o r i a l r u n e ;Kn o we th n o t , l a t e o r so o n ,C a r e t h n o tA n y j o tFo r h e r wi th h o ld e n b o o nTo a l l thy sp i r i t ' s p leasFor in f in i te su rcease!

If , on th is winter n ight ,O th o u g rea t ad mi ra lT h a t in th y so mb re p a l lL ie s t u p o n th e l an d ,Thy soul should take h is f l ightAnd leave the f rozen sand ,An d y ea rn ab o v e th e su rg e ,T h i n k ' s t t h o u t h a t a n y d i r g e ,Gr ie f in a r t i cu la teF r o m t h y b e r e a v e d m a t e ,W o u ld an swer to th y so u lW h ere th e was te wa te r s ro l l ?Nay , th o u h as t n eed o f n o n e !T h y lo n g lo v e -wa tch i s d o n e !

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Poems: Samuel McCoy

S P R I N G - S O N GE a r l y s o m e m o r n i n g i n M a y - t i m eI sha l l awakenWhen the b reeze b lowing in a t the windowSh a l l b a th e meW ith th e d e l i ca te scen t sOf the b lossoms of apples,F i l l ing my room wi th the i r coo lnessA n d b e a u t y a n d f r a g r a n c e As of old, as of old,W h en y o u r sp i r i t d we l t wi th me ,M y h ea r t sh a l l b e p u reAs th e h ea r t th a t y o u g av e me .

A S W E E T H E A R T : T H O M P S O N S T R E E TQueen o f a l l s t ree ts , F i f th AvenueStre tches her s lender l imbsF r o m t h e g r e a t A r c h of T r i u m p h , o n ,

On , wh e re th e d i s t an ce d imsThe sp lendors o f her jewel led robes ,

H e r g r a n i t e d r a p e r i e s ;T h e m a g i c , s u n s e t - s m i t t e n w a l l s

T h a t v e i l h e r marb le k n ees ;For n ine ty squares she l ies a queen ,

S u p e r b , b a r e , u n a s h a m e d ,Yie ld ing her beau ty scornfu l ly

T o w o r s h i p pe r s u n n a m e d .[ 189 ]


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P O E T R Y : A Magazine of VerseBut a t her feet her s is ter g lows,A d a u g h t e r o f t h e S o u t h :S q u a l i d , i m m e a s u r a b l y m e a n ,

B u t o h ! h e r h o t , sw e e t m o u t h !M y T h o m p s o n S t r e e t ! a T u s c a n g i rl ,

Hot wi th l i fe ' s wi ldes t b lood ;Her b lack shawl on her b lack , b lack hair,

Her b ro wn f ee t s t a in ed wi th mu d ;A scar le t b lossom at her l ips ,A n ew b ab e a t h e r b r ea s t ;

A s inger a t a wine-shop door ,(Her lover unconfessed) .

L i s t e n ! a h u r d y - g u r d y p l a y s No w a l i en me lo d ie s :

She smi les , she canno t qu i te fo rge tT h e m o t h e r o v e r - s e a s .

But she no less is mine a lone,M in e , m in e ! . . W h o m ay I b e?

H a v e I bet rayed her f rom her home?I am ca l l ed L ib e r ty !

T H E O F F - S H O R E W I N DT h e sk ie s a r e so wn wi th s t a r s to n ig h t ,The sea is sown with l ight ,The hollows of the heaving f loorGleam d eep wi th l ig h t o n ce mo re ,T h e rac ing eb b- t i de flashes pa s tAn d seek s th e v acan t v a s t ,[190]


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Poems: Samuel McCoy

A wind steals from a world asleepAnd walks the restless deep.It walks the deep in ecstasy,It lives! and loves to freeIts spirit to the silent night,And breathes deep in delight;Above the sea that knows no coast,Beneath the starry host,The wind walks like the souls of menWho walk with God again.The souls of men who walk with God!With faith's firm sandals shod,A lambent passion, body-free,Fain for eternity!O spirit born of human sighs,Set loose 'twixt sea and skies,Be thou an Angel of mankind,Thou night-unfettered wind!Bear thou the dreams of weary earth,Bear thou Tomorrow's birth,Take all our longings up to HimUntil His stars grow dim;A moving anchorage of prayer,Thou cool and healing air,Heading off-shore till shoreless dawnBreaks fair and night is gone.

Samuel McCoy[191]


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P O E T R Y : A Mag azine of Verse

" T H E H I L L - F L O W E R S ""I will lift up mine eyes to the hills."

IMoving through the dew, moving through the dew,Ere I waken in the city Life, thy dawn makes all

things new!And up a fir-clad glen, far from all the haunts of men ,Up a glen among the mountains, oh my feet are wings

again!M o v i n g t h r o u g h t h e d e w , m o v i n g t h r o u g h t h e d e w ,O mo u n ta in s o f my b o y h o o d , I co me ag a in to y o u ,By the l i t t le pa th I know, wi th the sea fa r be low,An d ab ov e , th e g r ea t c loud-ga l leons w i th the i r sa il s

o f rose and sno w ;As o f o ld , when a l l was young , and the ear th a song

u n s u n gAn d th e h ea th e r th ro u g h th e c r imso n d awn i t s E d en

incense flungFr o m th e m o u n ta in -h e ig h t s o f jo y , fo r a ca re le ss -h ea r t ed

b o y ,An d the lav ro cks rose l ike fou n ta i n sp ra ys o f b l issth a t ne ' e r cou ld c loy ,From the i r l i t t le beds o f b loom, f rom the go lden gorse

a n d b r o o m ,[192]


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"The Hill-Flowers'

W ith a song to Go d th e G iver , o ' e r th a t w as te o fwi ld p e r fu me ;Blow ing from he ig ht to hei gh t , in a g lory of gr ea t l ig ht ,Whi le the co t tage-c lus te red va l leys he ld the l i lac las t o f

n i g h t ,So, when dawn is in the skies, in a dream, a dream, I r ise ,And I fo l low my los t boyhood to the he igh ts o f Parad ise .Life, th y d aw n m ak es al l th in g s n ew ! Hi l l s of Y o u th , I

come to you ,Mo v in g th ro u g h th e d ew, mo v in g th ro u g h th e d ew.

I IMo v in g th ro u g h th e d ew, mo v in g th ro u g h th e d ew,Floa ts a b ro ther ' s face to mee t me ! Is i t you ? Is i t you ?Fo r the n ig h t I leave beh ind keep s these dazz led eyes

st i l l b l ind!But oh, the l i t t le h i l l - f lowers, their scent is wise and kind;And I sha l l no t lose the way f rom the darkness to the

d a y ,W hi le du s t can c l ing as the i r scen t c l ings to m em or y

for aye;And the least l ink in the chain can recal l the whole again ,And heaven a t las t resume i t s fa r - f lung harves ts , g ra in by

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P O E T R Y : A Magazine of VerseTo the hill-flowers clings my dust, and tho' eyeless Deathmay thrustAll else into the darkn ess, in their heaven I p ut m y tru st ;And a dawn shall bid me climb to the little spread ofthymeWhere first I heard the ripple of the fountain-headsof rhyme.And a fir-wood that I know, from dawn to sunset-glow,Shall whisper to a lonely sea, that swings far, far below.D ea th, thy dawn makes all things new. Hills of Y ou th,I come to you,Moving through the dew, moving through the dew.Alfred Noyes

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E D I T O R I A L C O M M E N TT H E S E R V I A N E P I C

P O E T R Y a s t h e i n s p i r a t i o n o f t h e B a l k a nwar was the theme of a re ce nt ta lk gi ve nb y M a d a m e S lav k o G ro u i t c h b efo re th e F r i

d ay Club in Chicago , and e lsewhere , dur ingher b r ie f so journ in her na t ive coun try .M a d a m e G r o u i t c h w a s a s t u d e n t a t th e A m e r i c a n S c ho o lo f Arch a eo lo g y in A th e n s wh en sh e m ar r i ed th e y o u n gServ ian d ip lo ma t wh o n o w rep re sen t s h i s n a t io n inL o n d o n .

Accord ing to the speaker , the Serv ian na t iona l songsha ve ke p t a l ive the hero ic sp i r i t o f the peo p le du r in gmo re th a n fou r cen tu r i e s o f T u rk i sh o p p re ss io n . T h ro u g hth em each g en e ra t io n o f th e i l l i t e r a te p easan t ry h asfough t once more the anc ien t wars , and fo l lowed oncemore the anc ien t leaders even to the f ina l t ragedy o f theba t t le o f Kossovo , where in 1377 they made the i r las tb r a v e s t a n d a g a i n s t t h e M o h a m m e d a n i n v a d e r . W h e n ever a few people assemble for a fest ival , some localbard , perhaps an o ld shepherd o r so ld ie r , a b l ind beggaror re fo rmed b r igand , wi l l chan t the o ld songs to them o n o t o n o u s m u s i c o f t h e gusle, while the peop le dancet h e Koto.

"T h e re a r e th o u san d s o f so n g s in th e Se rv ian ep ic , "s a y s M m e . G r o u i t c h , " a n d e a c h h a s m a n y v a r i a n t s

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P O E T R Y : A Maga zine of Verseacco rd in g to w h e th e r i t is su n g in Bo sn ia , H e rzeg o v in a ,M o n t e n e g r o , D a l m a t i a , S e r v i a , B u l g a r i a o r M a c e d o n i a ;for a l l these poli t ical d iv isions are peopled by the Servianrace descended f rom the heroes whose deeds a re theth em e of such unw ear ied na r r a t io n . T h e bard i s ca l ledth e Gu s la r f ro m h i s o n e - s t r in g ed in s t r u m en t , wh o sem ela nch o ly cade nce a s igh ing- fo r th o f sound affec tsth e emo t io n s an d in c rease s th e p a th o s o f th e wo rd s .For the s to ry i s usua l ly sad , even when i t p roc la ims thet r i u m p h o f g r e a t d e e d s . "

T h ese so n g s in v a r iab ly b eg in :Once it was so; now it is told.

An d th ey a s in v a r iab ly en d :From me the song; from God health to you.

A n u m b e r o f p o e m s w e r e r e a d f r o m M m e . M i j a t o v ich ' s r a th e r u n in sp i r ed t r an s la t io n o f th e Ko sso v oser ies , p u b l i sh ed in L o n d o n in 1 8 8 1 . E x t r e m e s imp l ic i tyand v iv idnes s charac te r iz e th e o ld ep ic , w hich fo llows thehope less s t rugg le o f the nob le Czar Lazar aga ins t thefoe w i th ou t , and susp ic ions , d issens ions , b lun de rs , event r each e r ie s , w i th in . C e r ta in ch a rac t e r s s t an d o u t wi thth e u n co mp ro mis in g ex ac tn ess o f so me b ib l i ca l s to ry :t h e C z a r himself; h is o v e r - zea lo u s Vo jv o d e ; Mi lo shOb i l i ch , wh o se mu rd e r o f Su l t an Mu rad p rec ip i t a t ed th ed i s a s t e r ; a n d c e r t a i n h a u g h t y a n d p a s s i o n a t e w o m e n ,l ik e th e E m p re ss M i l i t z a an d h e r tw o d a u g h te r s . Also" M a r k o , th e K in g ' s so n , " wh o se h a l f -m y th ica l figure isof the race of Achil les .

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P O E T R Y : A Maga zine of Verse

s is t ib le na t iona l sp i r i t which leads the i r a rmies , andb es id e i t t h e sp i r i t o f Ge rman t r a in in g b eh in d th e T u rkis a l ifeless sha dow . T h e O t t o m a n pow er in E ur op e isin ru ins now, a wreck in the pa th o f a na t iona l ea r th quake which the Gusla r has p rophes ied fo r f ive hundredy e a r s . T h e Gu s la r h a s d o n e h i s d u ty , an d h e s t an d stoday in a b laze o f g lo ry a t the head o f the un i ted andv i c t o r i o u s n a t i o n s o f t h e B a l k a n s . "

T h e sp eak e r to ld o f an imp ress iv e ce remo n y a t th eSe rv ian l eg a t io n in L o n d o n . Y o u n g Se rv ian s , r ecal l edh o me fo r mi l i t a ry se rv ice l a s t au tu mn , me t th e re o n th eev e o f d e p a r tu re . W in e b e in g se rv ed , th e m in i s t e r an dh is yo un g pa t r i o t s rose w i th li fted g lasses , and ch an tedth e an c ien t su mmo n s o f Cza r L aza r to h i s p eo p le :

Whoever born of Serbian blood or kinCornea not to fight the Turk on Kossovo,To him be never son or daughter born,No child to heir his lands or bear his name !For him no grape grow red, no corn grow white;In his hand s nothing prosper!May he liveAlone, unloved! and die unmourned, alone! H. M.I M A G I S M E *

So me cu r io s i ty h as b een a ro u sed co n ce rn in g Imagisme,and as I was unab le to f ind any th ing def in i te abou t i t inp r in t , I so u g h t o u t an Itnagiste, with in ten t to d i sco v e r

Editor 's NoteIn response to many requests for information regardingImagism and the Imagistes, we publish this note by Mr. Flint, supplementing itwith further exemplification by Mr. Poun d. It will be seen from these th at Imagismis not necessarily associated with Hellenic subjects, or with vers libre as a prescribed form.[ 1 9 3 ]


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Imagismewhether the group itself knew anything about the "movem en t. " I gleaned these facts.The Imagistes admitted that they were contemporaries of the Post Impressionists and the Futurists;but they had nothing in common with these schools.Th ey had not published a man ifesto. The y were no t arevolutionary school; their only endeavor was to writein accordance with the best tradition, as they found itin the best writers of all time,in Sappho, Catullus,Villon. They seemed to be absolutely into lera nt of allpoetry that was not written in such endeavor, ignoranceof the best trad ition forming no excuse. T he y had afew rules, drawn up for their own satisfaction only, andthey had no t published them . T he y w ere:

1. Direct t reatment of the "thing," whether subjective or objective.2. To use absolutely no word that did not contributeto the presentation.3. As regarding rhythm: to compose in sequence ofthe musical phrase, not in sequence of a metronome.By these standards they judged all poetry, and foundmo st of it w antin g. The y held also a certain 'D oc trin eof the Image, ' which they had not committed to writing;they said that it did not concern the public, and wouldprovoke useless discussion.The devices whereby they persuaded approachingpoetasters to attend their instruction were:1. They showed him his own thought already

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P O E T R Y : A Magazine of Versesplendidly expressed in some classic (and the schoolm u s te r s a l to g e th e r a m o s t fo rmid ab le e ru d i t io n ) .

2 . They re-wrote h is verses before h is eyes, usingabout ten words to h is f i f ty .

E v e n t h e i r o p p o n e n t s a d m i t o f t h e m r u e f u l l y " A t l ea s t th e y d o k eep b ad p o e t s f ro m w r i t i n g ! "

I fo u n d amo n g th em an ea rn es tn ess th a t i s amaz in gto one accus tomed to the usua l London a i r o f poe t icd i le t ta n t i s m . T h e y cons ider th a t A r t is a ll sc ience , a llr e lig io n , p h i lo so p h y an d m e ta p h y s ic . I t i s t r u e th a tsnobisme may be u rged aga ins t them; bu t i t i s a t leas tsnobisme in i t s most dynamic fo rm, wi th a g rea t dea l o fsound sense and energy beh ind i t ; and they a re s t r ic te rw i t h t h e m s e l v e s t h a n w i t h a n y o u t s i d e r .

F. S. Flint

A F E W D O N ' T 'S B Y A N I M A G I S T E

A n " I m a g e " is t h a t w h i c h p r e s e n t s a n i n t e l le c t u a land emo t iona l com plex in an in s t an t o f t im e . I use thet e r m " c o m p l e x " r a t h e r i n t h e t e c h n i c a l s e n s e e m p l o y e dby the newer psycho log is ts , such as Har t , though wemig h t n o t ag ree ab so lu te ly in o u r ap p l i ca t io n .

I t is t h e p r e s e n t a t i o n of s u ch a " c o m p l e x " i n s t a n t a n e ous ly which g ives tha t sense o f sudden l ibera t ion ; tha tsense o f f reedom f rom t ime l imi ts and space l imi ts ; tha t

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A Few Don'ts by an Imagistesense o f sudden g rowth , which we exper ience in thepresence o f the g rea tes t works o f a r t .I t i s be t te r to p resen t one Image in a l i fe t ime thant o p r o d u c e v o l u m i n o u s w o r k s .

Al l th is , however , some may consider open to deba te .T h e i m m e d i a t e n e c e s s i t y i s t o t a b u l a t e A LIST O F DONT'Sfor those beg inn ing to w r i te verse s . B u t I can no t pu ta l l o f th em in to Mo sa ic n eg a t iv e .

To beg in wi th , cons ider the th ree ru les recordedb y M r . F l i n t , n o t a s d o g m a n e v e r c o n si d er a n y t h i n g a sd o g m a b u t a s th e r e su l t of lo n g co n t em p la t io n , wh ich ,even i f i t i s some one e lse ' s con templa t ion , may be wor thc o n s i d e r a t i o n .

Pay n o a t t en t io n to th e c r i t i c i sm o f men wh o h av en ev e r th em se lv e s w r i t t en a n o tab l e wo rk . Co n s id e r th ed i sc rep an c ie s b e tween th e ac tu a l wr i t in g o f th e Greekp o e t s an d d rama t i s t s , an d th e th eo r ie s o f th e Graeco -R o m a n g r a m m a r i a n s , c o n c o c t e d t o e x p l a i n t h e i r m e t r e s .

L A N G U A G EUse no super f lous word , no ad jec t ive , which does no t

r e v e a l s o m e t h i n g .D o n ' t u se su ch an ex p re ss io n as " d im lan d s of peace."

I t du l l s the im ag e . I t mixes an ab s t ra c t io n w i th thecon cre te . I t com es f rom the w r i te r ' s no t rea l iz ing th a tth e n a tu ra l o b jec t i s a lway s th e adequate s y m b o l .

G o in fea r o f ab s t r ac t io ns . D o n ' t re te ll in me diocrev e r se w h a t h a s a l r e ad y b een d o n e in g oo d p ro se . D o n ' tth ink any in te l l igen t person i s go ing to be dece ived when

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P O E T R Y : A Magazine of Verseyou try to shirk a l l the d if f icul t ies of the unspeakablydiff icul t ar t of good prose by chopping your composit ionin to l in e l en g th s .

W h a t th e ex pe r t is t i red o f to da y th e pub l ic wi l l bet i r ed o f to mo r ro w.

Do n ' t imag in e th a t th e a r t o f p o e t ry i s an y s imp le rthan the a r t o f music , o r tha t you can p lease the exper tbefore you have spen t a t leas t as much e f fo r t on the a r to f verse as the average p iano teacher spends on thea r t o f mu s ic .

Be in f luenced by as many g rea t a r t i s t s as you can ,b u t h av e th e d ecen cy e i th e r to ack n o wled g e th e d eb to u t r ig h t , o r to t ry to co n cea l i t .

D o n ' t a l l o w " i n f l u e n c e " t o m e a n m e r e l y t h a t y o umo p u p th e p a r t i cu la r d eco ra t iv e v o cab u la ry o f so meo n e o r two p o e t s w h o m y o u h ap p e n to ad m ire . AT u r k i s h w a r c o r r e s p o n d e n t w a s r e c e n t l y c a u g h t r e d -h an d ed b ab b l in g in hi s d i sp a tch es of " d o v e -g ra y " hi ll s,o r e l s e i t w a s " p e a r l - p a l e , " I c a n n o t r e m e m b e r .

U s e e i t h e r n o o r n a m e n t o r g oo d o r n a m e n t .R H Y T H M A N D R H Y M E

Let the cand ida te f i l l h is mind wi th the f ines t cadenceshe can discover , preferably in a foreign language so thatthe mean ing o f the words may be less l ike ly to d iver th i s a t t en t io n f ro m th e m o v em en t ; e . g ., Sax o n c h a r m s ,

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A Few Dorit's by an Imagiste

Hebridean Folk Songs, the verse of Dante, and the lyricsof Shakespeareif he can dissociate the vocabulary fromthe cadence. Le t him dissect the lyrics of Go ethecoldly into their component sound values, syllables longand short, stressed and unstressed, into vowels andconsonants.It is not necessary that a poem should rely on itsmusic, but if it does rely on its music that music must be

such as will delight the expert.Let the neophyte know assonance and alliteration,rhyme immediate and delayed, simple and polyphonic,as a musician would expect to know harmo ny and counterpoin t and all the m inu tiae of his craft. No time is toogreat to give to these matters or to any one of them, evenif the artist seldom have need of them.Don't imagine that a thing will "go" in verse justbecause it's too dull to go in prose.D on 't be "v iew y" lea ve th at to the wri ters of pret tylittle philosophic essays. D on 't be descriptive; rememberthat the painter can describe a landscape much betterthan you can, and th a t he has to know a deal moreabout it .When Shakespeare talks of the "Dawn in russetmantle clad" he presents something which the painterdoes no t pre sen t. The re is in this line of his no thin gthat one can call description; he presents.Consider the way of the scientists rather than the wayof an advertising agent for a new soap.

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P O E T R Y : A Magazine of VerseThe sc ien t is t does no t expec t to be acc la imed as agrea t sc ien t i s t un t i l he has discovered s o m e t h i n g . H e

b eg in s b y l ea rn in g w h a t h a s b een d i sco v e red a l r ea d y .H e g o es f ro m t h a t p o in t o n w ard . H e d o es n o t b a n kon be ing a ch arm ing fel low perso na l ly . H e does no texpect h is f r iends to applaud the resul ts of h is f reshmanc la ss w o rk . F re sh m en in p o e t ry a r e u n fo r tu n a te ly n o tconfined to a def in i te and reco gniza ble c lass roo m . T h e ya re " a l l o v e r th e s h o p . " I s i t an y w o n d e r " t h e p u b l i cis in d if fe r ent to p o e t r y ? "

Do n ' t ch o p y o u r s tu f f in to sep a ra te iambs. D o n ' tmake each l ine s top dead a t the end , and then beg ineve ry ne x t l ine w i th a he ave . Le t the beg inn in g o f th ene x t l ine ca tc h the r i se o f the r h y th m w av e , un less youwant a def in i te long ish pause .

In shor t , behave as a music ian , a good music ian , whend ea l in g wi th t h a t p h ase o f y o u r a r t wh ich h as e x ac tpara l le ls in m usic . T h e sam e laws go ve rn , and yo u a reb o u n d b y n o o th e r s .

N a t u r a l l y , y o u r r h y t h m i c s t r u c t u r e s h o u l d n o t d e s t r o yth e sh ap e o f y o u r wo rd s , o r th e i r n a tu ra l so u n d , o r th e i rm ean in g . I t is im p ro b ab le th a t , a t th e s t a r t , y o u wil lb e ab le to g e t a rh y t h m -s t ru c t u r e s t ro n g en o u g h to a ffectthem very much , though you may fa l l a v ic t im to a l lso r ts o f fa lse s topp ing due to l ine ends and caesurae .

The music ian can re ly on p i tch and the vo lume oft h e o r c h e s t r a . Y o u c a n n o t . T h e t e r m h a r m o n y ismisapp l ied to poe t ry ; i t r e fe rs to s imul taneous sounds o f

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A Few Dont's by an Imagiste

dif fe ren t p i t ch . T he re i s , how eve r , in the bes t verse asor t of residue of sound which remains in the ear of thehe are r and ac ts m ore o r less as an o rg an- bas e . A rh ym emust have in i t some sl ight e lement of surpr ise i f i t is tog ive p leasure ; i t need no t be b izar re o r cu r ious , bu t i tmust be well used if used at all .

V id e fu r th e r Vi ld rac an d Du h ame l ' s n o te s o n rh y mein "Technique Potique."

T h a t p a r t o f y o u r p o e t ry w h ich s t r ik e s u p o n th ei m a g i n a t i v e eye of the read er wi ll lose no th in g by t r an sla t ion in to a fo re ign tongue ; tha t which appea ls to theear can reach on ly those who take i t in the o r ig ina l .

Co n s id e r th e d e f in i t en ess o f Dan te ' s p r e sen ta t io n , a sco m p are d w i th M i l to n ' s rh e to r i c . Re ad a s m u ch ofW o rd swo r th a s d o es n o t seem to o u n u t t e r ab ly d u l l .

I f y o u w an t th e g i s t of th e m a t te r g o to Sa p p h o ,Catu l lus , Vi l lon , Heine when he i s in the ve in , Gau t ie rw he n he is no t too f r ig id ; or , if yo u hav e not th e t on gu es ,seek ou t the le isu re ly Ch auc er . Good p rose wi ll do yo uno h ar m , and t her e is good d isc ip l ine to be ha d by t ry ingto wr i t e i t .

T ra ns la t io n i s l ikewise good t ra in i ng , if you find t h a ty o u r o r i g i n a l m a t t e r " w o b b l e s " w h e n y o u t r y t o r e w r i t ei t . T h e m ean in g o f th e p o em to b e t r an s la ted can n o t" w o b b l e . "

I f you a re us ing a symmetr ica l fo rm, don ' t pu t inwhat you want to say and then f i l l up the remain ingv a c u u m s w i t h s l u s h .

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P O E T R Y : A Magazine of VerseD o n ' t mess u p th e p e rcep t io n o f o n e sen se b y t ry i n g

to define i t in te rm s of an ot he r . T h is is usu al ly on ly th eres ult of being too laz y to f ind th e ex act w or d. T o th isc lause there a re poss ib ly excep t ions .

T h e f i rs t th ree s im ple p ro scr ip t i on s* wi l l th ro w ou tn in e - t en th s o f a l l th e b ad p o e t ry n o w accep ted a s s t an d a rdand c lass ic ; and wi l l p reven t you f rom many a c r ime o fp r o d u c t i o n ." . . . Mais d'abord il faut etre un poete," asM M . D u h am e l an d Vi ld ra c h av e sa id a t th e en d o ftheir little book.,"Notes sur la Techn ique Poetique" ; b ut inan Amer ican o n e t ak es th a t a t l e a s t f o r g r an ted , o th e r w i se w h y d o es o n e g e t b o r n u p o n t h a t a u g u s t c o n t i n e n t !

Ezra PoundN O T E S

Agnes Lee (Mrs . Ot to Freer ) who has l ived much inBoston , bu t i s now a res iden t o f Ch icago , i s known asth e a u t ho r o f var i ous books of poe t r y , the m os t rep r e sen ta t iv e , p e rh ap s , b e in g The Border of the Lake,p u b l i sh ed a b o u t tw o y ea r s ag o b y Sh e rm an , F r en c h & Co .S h e h a s t r a n s l a t e d G a u t i e r ' s Emaux et Camees i n t oE n g l i sh p o e t ry ; an d h as co n t r ib u ted to th e mag az in es .Her lo n g p o em, The Asphodel, wh ich ap p ea red in TheNorth American Review sev e ra l y ea r s ag o , a t t r ac tedw i d e a t t e n t i o n .! M r . E d m u n d K e m p e r B r o a d u s is a m e m b e r o f t h efacu l ty of th e U n iv e r s i ty o f A lb e r ta , C an ad a .

Noted by Mr. Flint. ] 206]


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NotesMiss Fannie Stearns Davis is a young American whohas written many songs and lyrics, a collection of whichis to be pub lished this spring. She was born in Cleveland, Ohio, but now lives in the East.M r s . M ey ne ll, who is the wife of M r. W ilfrid M eyne ll,edito r of one of the leading E nglish Ca tholic reviews,hardly needs an introduction in America, where her exqu isite ar t is well kno wn. H er small volum es of essays

The Rhythm of Life, The Color of Life, The Children, etc.,and her Poems are published by Th e John Lane Com pany.Mr. Ridgely Torrence is the author of El Dorado, ATragedy, Abelard and Eloise, a poetic drama, and Ritualsfor The Events of Life. He contributes infrequently tothe magazines, several of his longer poems having neverbeen republished. He lives in New York.Mr. Samuel McCoy was born, thirty-one years ago,at Bu rlington, Iow a. He now lives at Indian apo lis, anddevo tes himself wholly to literary work. He was educatedat Princeton, and from 1906 to 1908 was associate editorof The Reader. A collection of Mr. McCoy's poemswill be issued in book form this year by the Bobbs-MerrillCompany.Mr. Alfred Noyes, a young English poet, is a wellknown contributor to English and American magazines,and has published many books of poetry. The Loom of

Years; The Flower of Old Japan; Poems; The Forest of[ 2 0 7 ]


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P O E T R Y : A Magazine of VerseWild Thyme; Drake, English An Epic; Forty SingingSeamen, and The Enchanted Island a re among the t i t lesof h is pub l ished works ; and a new vo lume, The Tales ofthe Merm aid Tavern, i s to be pub l ished th is sp r ing by theFred e r ick A. S to k es Co .

E a r ly n u mb er s o f Po e t ry wi l l co n ta in p o ems b y Jo h nG . N e i h a r d t , E z r a P o u n d , H a r r i e t M o n r o e , W i l l ia mCar lo s W i l l i ams , Al len U p w ard , an d o th e r s .

[ 2 0 8 ]


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POETRY: A Magazine of VerseBOOKS RECEIVED

Songs of a Syrian Lover, b y C l i n t o n S c o l l a r d . E l k i n M a t h e w s .Annates of Song, b y G e o r g e M . P . B a i r d . P r i v a t e l y P r i n t e d .Pearls of Thought, A Collection of Original Poems, b y S a m u e l M . F l e i s h m a n . P r i v a t e l y P r i n t e d .The Summ ons of the King, A Play, b y P h i l i p B e c k e r G o e t z . T h e M a c D o w e l lP r e s s .Drake, An English Epic, b y A l f r ed N o y e s , F r e d e r i c k A . S t o k e s C o .Sherwood, or Robin Hood and the Three Kings, A Play in Five Acts, b y A l f r e d N o y e s .F r e d e r i c k A . S t o k e s C o .The Enchanted Island and Other Poems, b y A l f r ed N o y e s . F r e d e r i c k A S t o k e s C o .Songs of the City, b y D e C a m p L e l a n d . T h e W e s t e n d e P u b l i s h in g C o .In Vivid Gardens, b y M a r g u e r i t e W i l k i n s o n . S h e r m a n , F r e n c h & C o .A Book of Verse, b y A l ic e H a t h a w a y C u n n i n g h a m . C o c h r a n e P u b l i s h i n g C o .Chilhowee, A Legend of the Great Smoky Mountains, b y H e n r y V . M a x w e l l . K n o x v i l le P r i n t i n g C o .Sappho, And the Island of Lesbos, b y M a r y M i l l s P a t r i c k . H o u g h t o n M i ff li n C o .Harp of Milan, b y S i s t e r M . F i d e s S h e p p e r s o n . J . H . Y e w d a l e & S o n s .Two Legends, A Souvenir of Sodus Bay, b y M r s . B . C . R u d e . P r i v a t e l y P r i n t e d .Moods, b y D a v i d M . C o r y . T h e P o e t L o r e C o .Poems, b y C h a r l e s D . P l a t t . C h a r l e s D . P i a t t , D o v e r , N e w J e r s e y .Poems, Old and New, b y A . H . B e e s l y . L o n g m a n s , G r e e n & C o .Paroles devant la Vie, p a r A l e x a n d r e M e r c e r e a u . E . F i g u i r eAlexandre Mercereau, p a r J e a n M e t z i n g e r . E . F i g u i r e , P a r i s .Anthologie-Critique, p a r F l o r i a n - P a r m e n t i e r . G a s t i e n - S e r g e , P a r i s .

PERIODICALSThe Wild Hawk, H e r v e y W h i t e . T h e M a v e r i c k P r e s s. W o o d s t o c k , N . Y .The Bibelot, T h o s . B . M o s h e r , P o r t l a n d , M a i n e .The Idler, R o b e r t J . S h o r e s , N e w Y o r k C i t y .The Century, N e w Y o r k C i t y .The Forum, N e w Y o r k C i t y .The Conservator, H o r a c e T r a u b e l , P h i l a d e l p h i a .The Nation, N e w Y o r k C i t y .The Poetry Review, H a r o l d M u n r o , L o n d o n .The Poetry Review ( N e w S e r i e s ) , S t e p h e n P h i l l i p s , L o n d o n .The Literary Digest, N e w Y o r k C i t y .Current Opinion, N e w Y o r k C i t y .The International, N e w Y o r k C i t y .The Dial, C h i c a g o .The Survey, N e w Y o r k C i t y .The Nation, N e w Y o r k C i t y .The Music News, C h i c a g o .Mercure de France, 2 6 R u e d e C o n d , P a r i s .L'Effort Libre, G a l e r i e V i l d r a c , 11 R u e d e S e i n e , P a r i s .Les Potes, E . B a s s e t , 3 R u e D a n t e , P a r i s . ( T h i s n u m b e r d e v o t e d t o p o e m ss e l e c t e d f r o m t h e w o r k o f N i c o l a s B e a u d u i n , Paroxyste.)L'Ile Sonnante, 2 1 R u e R o u s s e l e t , P a r i s .2 0 9 ]


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N EW S C R I B N E R B O O K SHELEN REDEE M ED AND OTHER POEMS

B y M A U R I C E H E W L E T TN E T , $1.50 Postage Ex tra

This book of verses is the prod uct of a genuine poet whose intense individu alityin manner and conception is tempered by a perfect knowledge of his medium ofexpression."Helen Redeemed" is a splendid narrative poem of the awakening of Helen's

loyalty and love for her husband, and of the part she played in destroying Troy.Several of the other longer poems, strikingly original in conception and form,show a living sympathy with the Greek spirit and viewpoint: notably, the Argive*Wo men, and Hypsiplyle. Th e "Fo urtee n Sonn ets" are beautiful in form, idea,and feeling, and several of the brief visions called up in epigrammata suggestthe Japanese in purity, delicacy, and vividness.

T H E M O R T A L S OU L S A N D O T H E RD R A M A S

By OLIVE TILFORD DARGAN"A new volume illustrative of Mrs. Dargan's talent is a welcome literary eventShe holds a unique position among her compatriots, not to say among her contemporaries, both as a poet and as a dramatist ."Los Angeles Times."Establishes yet more firmly her position among the foremost Americanwriters of dramas."Chicago Record-Herald."To say that she writes as vividly, as dramatically, and as poetically as someof these who have won much fame would be going none too far. M rs. Darg anis a dramatic poet of power."Chicago Tribune.

$1.50 Net, by Mail 21.65C H A R L E S S C R I B N E R S ' SO N S, N E W Y O R K


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P O E T R Y A N D D R A M A( F O U N D E D 1 9 1 2 )

A Q U A R T E R L Y p e r i o d i c a l d e v o t e d t o t h ecr i t i c i sm and apprec ia t ion o f modernpoe t ry and d rama of a l l coun t r ies , pub l i shed ont h e 1 5 t h M a r c h , J u n e , S e p t e m b e r a n d D e c e m be r , a t t he P oe t ry Books hop , 35 D evons h i r eS t r e e t , T h e o b a l d ' s R o a d , L o n d o n , W . C .E ach i s s ue con ta in s :A r t ic les on sub jec t s r e la t in g to po e t ry . Or ig ina lw ork by m ode rn poe t s . C r i t i c i s m o f im por t an tcu r r en t books o f poe t ry , b iog raphy and the a r to f t he t h ea t r e . A s u rve y of A m er i can , F r e nch ,I t a l i a n , a n d G e r m a n l i t e r a t u r e , a n d t h e D r a m a .A n n u al s ub scr ip t ion 10s. 6d . ne t , pos t f ree .Separa te copies , 2s . 6d . ne t each.I n c on ne xio n w i t h P O E T R Y & D R A M A , aBookshop has been opened for the sa le ofpoe t ry , and a l l books , pamphle t s , and per iod i ca l s connec ted d i rec t ly o r ind i rec t ly wi th poe t ry .Orders for foreign books and per iodicals wil l bep r om pt l y execu ted . F o r f u r the r i n fo rm a t ioncal l , or wri te to T H E P O E T R Y B O O K S H O P ,35 D E V O N S H I R E S T R E E T , T H E O B A L D ' S R O A D ,L O N D O N , W . C .


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THE CAMBRIDGE EDITIONThe Best Single Volume Form, in Which to Possessthe Works of Famous British and American Poets

T he vo l um e s i n t h i s C a m b r i dg e e d i t i on a r e t h o r ou gh l y e d i t e d w i t h av iew to g iv ing an accura te t ex t and such an equipment o f no tes a s sha l ls e r ve t he ne e ds of r e a de r s a nd s t u de n t s . E a c h vo l um e is l a r ge c r ownoc tav o , p r in ted in c lea r typ e f rom new p la te s on op aq ue pape r , so s t i t ch edas to open easi ly and "s ta y o pe n ." T h e be s t po r t r a i t is p r e f ixed , a fu l lb i og r a ph i c a l s ke t c h p r e c e de s t he p oe m s , a nd no t e s a nd i nde xe s f o ll ow .M a n y o f t he vo l u m e s a re u s e d in cl a ss wo r k a t H a r va r d . T h e m or erecent volumes are given at the top of list.

DRY DEN . Edited by George R. Noyes, Associate ProfessorSlavic Languages, University of California.SP EN SE R. R . E. Neil Do dge , Assistant Professor ofEnglish Literature, University of Wisconsin.SH AK ESP EA RE . W . A. Ne l lson, Adjunct Professor ofEnglish, Columbia University, newlyelected Professor of English at HarvardUniversity.BURNS. W . E. H en le y, English poet and critic.

BY RO N. P au l E. M ore , l i terary edi tor of theN . Y. Evening Post.TEN NY SO N. W il l ia m J . Rolfe , la te Shakespeareanscholar and critic.W H I T T I E R . H o r a c e E . S c u d d e r .W O RD SW OR TH . A. J . G eorg e, Master in English HighSchool, Newton, Mass., recently Professor of English Literature, ClarkBALLADS, Univers i ty .E N G L I S H A ND S C O T T I S H P O P U L A R .George L. Kittredge, Professor of English, Harvard University, and HelenC h i l d S a r g e n t .H O L M E S . H o r a c e E . S c u d d e r .KE AT S . Ho r a c e E . S c u dde r .L O N G F E L L O W . H o r a c e E . S c u d d e r .L OW E L L . Ho r a c e E . S c u dde r .M ILT ON . W i l l i am V au gh n M oody , l a te P rofessorof EnglishLiterature,Chicago Un iversity.PO PE . H en ry W. Bo yn ton , au thor and c r it ic .S C O T T . Ho r a c e E . S c u dde r .SH ELL EY . Ge org e E. W oo db erry , former ly Professor of Comparative Literature,Columbia University.BR OW NIN G. Ho race E . Scu dd er , l ate au thor, c r it ic .and editor of The Atlantic Monthly.M R S . B R O W N I NG. Ha r r i e t W a t e r s P r e s t on , t ra n s la t o r,cr it ic, and authority upon Provenalli terature.All volumes, except those marked with a P, each, large crown 8vo, cloth,gilt top, $2.00; volumes marked with a P, each, cloth, gilt top. $3.00.Bos ton , HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY, NewYork


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A SCROLL OF SEERSA Wall Anthology of Selections from Great Modern

PoetryContaining Inspiriting Stanzas from the Poets of OurTimesAnd Meant to Fill the Days with a New Sense of Beautyand Spiritual Strength.The selections include the nam es of W illiam Va ughnMoody, Francis Thompson, Coventry Patmore, WaltWhitman, Browning, Matthew Arnold, Emerson, Stevenson, and other authors whose message is of distinctlymodern significance.Published by Peter Paul & Son, 136 N or th Pearl St.,Buffalo, N. Y.Price, $2.00.

" T H E W I F E O F P O T I P H A R W I T H O T H E RPOEMS "By HARVEY MAITLAND WATTSImpressions of EuropeImpressions of AmericaNature poemsSonnetsand lyricsdescriptive and emotionalwith the "Reply of Gigadibs" and othersatires, and the dram atic episode th at gives ti t le. Handsomely bound in Egyptia nblue, gold stamp ed and printed in large typ e. 228 pages. Price $1.50.M r. W att s muse fares seriously afar, inten t on things psychic, allusive,suggestive and in trospective . Into a dozen lines, full of picturesque imagery an dromantic sentiment, he compresses matter for a long and leisurely poem of oldendays. North American.These poems of Mr. Watts ' sound an extended gamut and arrest the attentionand delight the ear by the freshness of their thought and the excellence of theirwo rkman ship. The y are vivid, vital, fluent, sp ontan eous and sincere in a measurewhich is quite exceptional The Inquirer.THE JOHN C. WINSTON CO., PUBLISHERS1006-1016 Arch Street, Philadelphia

P P R IV A T E L Y P R I N T E D , L I M I T E D E D I T I O N SO F BO OK S, ma nufactured and pu t on sale for autho rsor publishers con stitute our particula r wo rk. W e prin tthis magazine.P Plans and cost estimates promptly furnished uponapplication.T H E R A L P H F L E T C H E R S E Y M O U R C O .10 25 F I N E A R TS B U I L D I N G : C H IC A G ODESIGNE RS and PRINTERS


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W i l l e nd e a vo r t o pub l i s h t h e be s t poe m s now w r i t t e n in E ng l i s h ;W i l l r e v i e w a nd d i s c us s ne w boo ks o f ve r s e ;W i l l p r om o t e in e ve r y pos s i b l e w a y t he i n t e r e s t s o f t he a r t .

I n o r de r t h a t t h i s e ff or t m a y be r e c ogn i ze d a s j u s t a nd ne c e s s a r y ,a nd m a y de ve l op f o r t h i s a r t a r e s pons i v e pub l i c , we a s k t he poe t s t os e nd u s t he i r be s t ve r s e . W e p r om i s e t o pa y fo r c o n t r i b u t i o ns , a nd t or e f u s e no t h i ng be c a us e i t i s t oo good , wha t e ve r be t he na t u r e o f i t sexce l lence . W e sha l l r ead wi th spec ia l in t e r e s t po em s of m od erns ign i f icance , b u t th e mo s t c la s s ic sub jec t wi l l no t be dec l ined i f i t r eac hesa h i g h s t a n d a r d o f q u a l i t y .

W e wi s h t o s how t o a n e ve r - i nc r e a s i n g pub l i c t he be s t t ha t c a n bedone t oda y i n E ng l i s h ve r s e .I f yo u love good po e t r y , s ubs c r i be .I f you be l i e ve t h a t t h i s a r t , l i k e pa i n t i n g , s c u l p t u r e , m us i c a nda r c h i t e c t u r e , r e qu i r e s a nd de s e r ve s pub l i c r e c ogn i t i on a nd s uppo r t ,

s u b s c r i b e .I f you be l i e ve w i t h W hi t m a n t h a t " t h e t op m os t p r oo f o f a r a c e i si t s own bo r n poe t r y , " s ubs c r i be .

P O E T R Y5 4 3 C a s s S t r e e t , C h i c a g o

S e nd P O E T R Y fo r one ye a r ( 31 .50 e nc l o s e d ) be g i nn i ngto

N a m eA d d r e s s


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P O E T R YOn sale outside Chicago:Brentono's ,Fifth Ave. and 27th St., New York City.The Poetry Bookshop,35 Devonshire St. , Theobald's Rd., London, W. C.Ashnur Galerie,211 Blvd. Raspail, Paris, France.The Old Corner Bookshop,27 Bromfield St., Boston, Mass.


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Documents

Varios, Poetry I, 6