Six Poems
November [2, [924 THE COMMONWEAL 21 SIX POEMS Fuchyja Hedges in...
...Earth's parchEd minds besprinkling Till all her dreams are gone...
...Indian village smells...
...For so I'll greet you in this alien air...
...Hers is the sober wisdom of the years, And now she ivairs for what she knows will come, Breathing the calmness of all quiet things, - Twilight and silence and a heart at peace...
...Out on the blustry moors the merchant train Shall breast the winters...
...To Alice Meynell, In Pace There long shall stand adown the cypress paths A vase of alabaster faintly scrolled With Phidian dancers, wreathing in their hold Thy name amid the sunset aftermaths Here snowy birds of love shall build their raths By dawns and twilights, where thine eyes unfold In calm on him whose beauty's rime is told As lilies lift above their marshy baths...
...WILLIAM Ross BENET., The Turquoise Bowl A bowl in the hand is the earth A carved fragile thing that you bold— Lacquer, tumuoise and gold...
...You've made your palace-beauty dedicate, And your pomp serviceable...
...Placid she sirs in gnarled simplicity, Not hills nor rocks more tranquil, and even as they She bears Time's marks upon her patiently...
...ELEANOR Roosas COL...
...Your scarlet is the scarlet of the Wounds...
...Tire Old Woman She keeps her nook, sitting with folded hands And looking abroad with dim unquestioning gaze, Her heart grown strangely quiet and tolerant...
...You stand before our folds...
...JOHN Burncsn...
...The coulec's murmur in the willows' shade...
...And like those maidens who were only known In their own land as Children of the King, Daughters of Charlemagne, You have, by following that pilgrim-saint Become high votresses...
...Life's lodestone pluck fresh stars reflecting thine...
...The Oregon Trail The grizzled trapper of the log stockade, Gaudy in buckskin sewn with beads and bells, Hawk-eyed, his ears still echoing the yells Of fierce Dakotas riding on their raid...
...And, in this stony place, The time the robin sings, Through your bells rings the Angelus I R&niuixc COLUM...
...November [2, [924 THE COMMONWEAL 21 SIX POEMS Fuchyja Hedges in Gonnacht I think some saint of Eli-inn, wandering far, Found you, and drew you here, Damosels...
...I think you came from some old Roman land: Most alien, but most Catholic are you: Your purple is the purple that enfolds In Passion Week, the Shrine...
...Moon Cup She holds a curvEd cup of dreams Within her ash-white hands, As midst her singing stars she moves Above the darkling lands...
...Dust of the bison herd...
...Half fabulous from page on page they rise, Traced by an ailing hand, with failing eyes, Till, dark upon a clear and golden sky, The heroic Ogullallah lifts his lance And hurls, where war plumes in the distance dance, His doomed and unintelligible cry...
...You stand beside the furzes in our fields, You bring before our walls, before our doors, Lamps oi the Sanctuary...
...Oh, lift it and turn it and see The winged sun sting its side like a bee...
...And thence with fingers fairy-light She lifts them one by one...
...soft behind the pane New lamps shall start and warmer hearth fires glow...
...K.qmayw Wnzrz Ryix...
...With years convening solemnly and slow To nurse the flame upon thy deathless shrine...
...She has learned patience: those she loved are gone, And youth is gone, and all the dreams of youth, And grief itself hath found its natural ending, And now she feels there is no more to learn...
...Then followed by her waning stars, She sinks to gentle rest, In silver silence canopied Upon the dawn's young brent...
...The glaring prairie...
...the miracles Of hardihood whereby the West was made...
...THOMAS WALSH...
Vol. 1 • November 1924 • No. 1
