The New Poetry

This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1917. Excerpt: ... Charles Erskine Scott Wood THE POET IN THE DESERT Extracts from the Prologue I have come into the Desert because my soul is athirst as the Desert is athirst; My soul which is the soul of all; universal, not different. We are athirst for the waters which make beautiful the path And entice the grass, the willows and poplars, So that in the heat of the day we may lie in a cool shadow, Soothed as by the hands of quiet women, listening to the discourse of running waters as the voices of women, exchanging the confidences of love. The mountains afar girdle the Desert as a zone of amethyst; Pale, translucent walls of opal, Girdling the Desert as Life is girt by Eternity. They lift their heads high above our tribulation Into the azure vault of Time; Theirs are the airy castles which are set upon foundations of sapphire. My soul goes out to them as the bird to her secret nest. They are the abode of peace. The flowers bloom in the Desert joyously--They do not weary themselves with questioning; They are careless whether they be seen, or praised. They blossom unto life perfectly and unto death perfectly, leaving nothing unsaid. They spread a voluptuous carpet for the feet of the Wind And to the frolic Breezes which overleap them, they whisper: "Stay a moment, Brother; plunder us of our passion; Our day is short, but our beauty is eternal." Never have I found a place, or a season, without beauty. Neither the sea, where the white stallions champ their bits and rear against their bridles, Nor the Desert, bride of the Sun, which sits scornful, apart, Like an unwooed princess, careless, indifferent. She spreads her garments, wonderful beyond estimation, And embroiders continually her mantle. She is a queen, seated on a throne of gold In the Hall of Silence. She insists upo...