Poems
Odhner, Madefrey & Fuller, Ethel Romig & Daly, James J. & Rolwing, Mary & Mclntosh, Mavis & Ahearn, Roland
March 30, I927 THE COMMONWEAL 581 POEMS ~hantasy A girl of twenty dreams of these: A small wee house 'mid poplar trees; Tall hollyhocks swayed by the breeze. Patterned sunlight on asters...
...Puppets It was her duty to unsnarl the strings Before the show, to play the ugly sister, The cat, or Cinderella, but the things She loved most were the dolls themselves who kissed her When she had hooked them to their pegs at night-- They looked at her most understandingly...
...MARY RoLwmc...
...The peristyles are only meeting-places Of querulous winds where the pride of life gathered in June...
...A sturdy son's blue eyes alight...
...March 30, I927 THE COMMONWEAL 581 POEMS ~hantasy A girl of twenty dreams of these: A small wee house 'mid poplar trees...
...These are the things of which she dreams-- A girl of twenty--to her life seems Like shining, fragile moonlight beams...
...Open-Air Theatre in March Stale snows drift where summer saw happy faces...
...A carven shelf on which to hold Her china cups--Dutch blue and old...
...Black darkness ruled the deep: no living thing In all that vast, abysmal void to sing The praise of God Triune...
...rea t ion In principio...
...ROLAND AHEARN...
...Under the cold moon there is no one who grieves or rejoices-- Only wheeling winds dragging dead leaves in their train...
...F~fgarch Morning If I should meet you on the street today And we should stand wind blown and drenched with sun, I wonder, would the things we'd find to say Be words of anyone to anyone, Or would this urgent sun have warmed us through, And would we be so fresh with wind of spring That you would say to me, and I to you, Some old, some lovely, very secret thing...
...When I die, and revisit the earth eternities after, I shall find it a playhouse like this, sans audience and mime, A stained shell of old song and passion and laughter, Where graveyard winds flirt with the litter of time...
...MAVIS MclNToSm first Sign When, with my sharpened plough, I prod The reluctant, inert sod From sleep, the drowsy turf Exhales a breath that's some of surf And drying kelp and tang of brine, Some of the pungency of pine, Of dusty bracken, cone-tipped fir, Of mignonette, of lavendar, Of sweetbriar, rosemary and rue, Some of frost, some of dew, Some of smoke from burning leaves, Some of sun on ripe corn sheaves-- A potpourri of scents all sealed In the black breast of a field, And shattered now for heralding The white imminence of spring...
...ETHEL ROMIG FULLER...
...A lacquer tray of Chinese red...
...The horrid stepmother filled her with fright-- A wicked doll whose eyes could surely see, So cunningly averted, with such stealth Her glances followed...
...old walnut bed...
...When, lo ! The fiat falls from Lips divine: yon ray That gleams afar proclaims the primal day...
...Little puppeteerm The tiny slipper and the pumpkin wealth, The coachmen, gossamers, and prince, are near-Will you cheat Cinderella, or yourself, Who are not more of woman than of...
...A breakfast nook so shining white-- With yellow curtains daring bright...
...Patterned sunlight on asters gold...
...unheard by ears The silences of uncreated spheres...
...MADEFREY ODHNER...
...The color has gone, and the warmth, and the triumphant young voices, Life has been washed from the ruddy Dionysus by rain...
...The Spirit moves abroad--now creatures fair, Gay choristers of God, sing everywhere...
...The stage and its ripple of seats are blank as the moon...
...The echo of sweet words unsaid...
...Silk patchwork quilt...
...JaMrs J. DaLv...
Vol. 5 • March 1927 • No. 21
