Two Anthologies, H. M. Some Imagist Poets: Georgian Poetry: New Books of Verse 1916 1913-1915 Cadences, by F. S. Flint, Max Michelson In the Town and On the Road, by Douglas Goldring, Dorothy The Middle Miles and Other Poems, by Lee Wilson Dodd, H. M. The Spirit of '76 in Poetry The Spirit of the American Revolution, as Revealed in the Poetry of CORRESPONDENCE: The Dead Irish Poets: I, Padraic Colum II, Joseph Campbell James Whitcomb Riley, H. M. REVIEWS: 260 267 268 272 305 308 Modern Monologues, Amy Lowell Flash-lights, by Mary Aldis A Parodist, H. B. F. -and Other Poets, by Louis Untermeyer OUR CONTEMPORARIES: A New Quarterly, A. C. H. Artist versus Amateur Robert Frost's Quality, A. C. H. What Will He Do With It? Thomas Macdonagh as Critic, Ewa Pound 309 312 318 321 Notes 323 326 327 328 329 53, 107, 161, 217, 273, 329 [viii Doetry A Dagazine of Verse VOL. VIII No. I APRIL, 1916 POEMS APRIL ROMANCE SAW the sunlight in a leafy place Bathing itself in liquid green and amber, petals, And every leaf was lovely with the rain. With wondering eyes I saw how leaf and flower And when it sang, it told how earth to heaven Was turned; and how the miracle of morning Had made of leaf and flower a deathless maiden To be my mate and teach eternity. She took my hand: I understood each thing She led me out—we left the leafy croft, And its wet fragrance, for the treeless town; But she picked up a dead leaf in the mud, And she found flowers in the children's hair. Then she was gone and I am seeking her: And every time at evening when it rains, And every time at morning, when the sun Bathes in the beauty of that leafy place, Or when he looks into an urchin's eyes To see if April tears or smiles are there, A BRETON NIGHT The winter seal is on the door. One "Christus," nailed upon the wall, A Breton Night Whose mate lies drowned beneath the sea. She cannot tell how to bear it all, Or live till Noel sets her free, When she need not fear the quick and dead, Now she will rise in her despair To look out through the leaden panes Between the wall-bed and the hearth; And hear the wind like sea-waves there. She does not know how, in the earth, The dark blind seed doth hear the wind, SONNETINA: PUNCH AND JUDY This is the play of plays. Come, boys, When he escapes the gallows-tree, That shall outlive the tragedy THE WOMAN OF SORROWS To bed I went for rest, no rest there to find: Day might sleep, nor I; midnight waked my mind. Oh a heavy wall has sorrow, a gloomy hedge has care: The wind in the keyhole, it whimpered bitterly, And I got up to open to my crying baby. I'm not ashamed to cry myself, but I'm too proud to pray To have the only things I've left rolled up and put away. That was a babeless woman-Helen of Troy: She never knew the sorrow, and never half the joy. I pity the poor women that childing never knew, Would you take from my bosom the feeling of my child? Oh my sorrow for my babe is become my baby. When you see the dog cast for the ewe in the snow; When you watch the mother-thrush, with her nest broke below; |