Poems
Leahy, L. A. & Corning, Howard McKinley & MacLean, Katharine Allison & Kresensky, Raymond & Thornton, Francis Beauchesne & Ginsberg, Louis
719 POEMS Lark- Wise When I behold how men go down to death Like moon-thralled Keats, with half their work undone; I fear the fleet-foot hour, the hasting sun That wastes the rose he opens...
...Clad in a rime of tender malachite and tassels pink and silver, The oak of a hundred years is young...
...From where else could such an odor be But from there ? Katharine Allison MacLean...
...Louis Ginsberg...
...I fear the fleet-foot hour, the hasting sun That wastes the rose he opens with his breath...
...Raymond Kresensky...
...Yellow Jasmine Gold stars have fallen...
...To net them The grey moss spreads cunningly A million webs through the branches...
...see, They shine with pale daylight fire Against the dark trunks of live oaks...
...Every eager bough is bent, Verifying sacrament...
...Spring Meaaow Butterflies rejoice to be Documenting deity...
...I follow her and wonder why Her path leads down the water's edge— And not a road into the sky With starting from the water's edge...
...She bends and nods beneath the tree: Her touch is on to stir the hush That sleeps the crab-tree's finery, And wakes the oriole and thrush...
...Sipping testament, each goes Reassured at every rose...
...Learning clarity from on high, Little pools rehearse the sky...
...While the daisies dramatize Constellations of the skies...
...Oh, the smiles and tears of spring...
...Riotous tulips, vermilion, black and saffron, Mingle with the prim hyacinths...
...Howard McKinley Corning...
...Oh, the hope and wistfulness of youth...
...The all-unsaid mocks what the too-soon saith...
...If the star fire blanches So far from heaven, heaven's air Still clings delicately...
...L. A. Leahy...
...To a Drift of Oregon Bluejays Now come the rain's intimate swift Fingers, and now comes The phantasmal blue drift Of heaven in crumbs...
...Old in quiet wisdom, trees Sink their roots in verities...
...spray Jetted rain from their wings, Launch stars in the steely-houred day And arrows from old springs...
...The earth new flecked with green Some semblance wears of immortality, Past yonder hill through tortured oaks I see The drowsy morning smoulder...
...Spring The air is opal dust and shreds of spun gold...
...soft, unseen, The blue-mazed lark pipes to the nascent May, Careless of time and death beyond this day...
...All is not lost...
...A Quiet Step A quiet step upon the place, Where green and soft the pasture lay, Is felt and then with easy grace There passes Spring the cow-path way...
...Pools of grass gleam in every meadow— The stark earth is awaking...
...To walk among the wheat blades, preen Under dark boughs in Apple pumice, and shake silver-green Laurel to dripping, and begin The first cool burning of the spring...
...Francis Beauchesne Thornton...
...Sweetly breathes the south wind, And flings a gossamer, diaphanous Jade and crystal, from her milky shoulders...
...Eager with their desire The bushes tip-toe to get them, Wave their green fingers . . . coax...
...Thin starred with rhyme the languid hours run, As puff-balls blown they shatter one by one Where chill wind blows, where keen frost withereth...
Vol. 5 • May 1927 • No. 26
