Poems
al, J. Corson Miller, et.
Sle leepers Here are the tiny lads, the grave, the dream-lit faces. With sad Shakespearean smiles, and glad CatuUan graces. Tonight the moon guards some weird window-pane, Where Abel sleeps...
...To the dark heart of the years...
...it's good all day to hear Quentin's electric noisy cheer...
...To see staid Drena quaintly vain Smooth her gilt ruffled curls again...
...Along a street, mantled in bitter snows, A young Napoleon sleeps—^who knows, who knows...
...Breakfast is cozy, formal too, And then I have my work to do...
...Content, for what is time but the fetus of the night...
...GERTRUDE CALLAGHAN...
...Kingdoms are bought by yearning, and by burning Of body and bruising of breast...
...The world moves west, a smudge among the spheres, The months slant by, the days melt into years...
...Though she never turn to Thee, Are there saints as sweet as she...
...At dusk I sit and sew until Sweet night leans on my window-sill, And then—you never have to call— I meet you in the shadowed hall...
...And Paganini peeps again from bed, To hear the lark's first song when dawn is red...
...How much can you suffer...
...Yet all they say Is that you died one buried May...
...The little lads—the grave, the dream-lit faces, With sad Shakespearean eyes, and glad CatuUan graces...
...The boy leans forward and breathes the heavy scent Of springs unborn, of force unspent At the edge of the morn where the new years are bent, And his heart is content...
...And God is part and parcel and body of the light And the darkness, as he steers From the walk, gleaming white...
...How far can you see...
...Madman, murderer, priest, they all sleep well, For what the years shall make them, none can tell...
...But ah...
...The river-boats are black by the blurred black piers...
...For whoso tells how cryptic years conspire To build a saint's white heart, a bandit's ire...
...Are you free...
...Tonight the moon guards some weird window-pane, Where Abel sleeps again with jealous Cain...
...I would be a king...
...Yet all they say Is Quentin's gone and Drena's grey...
...Send Thy gift through me to her, Let me be her comforter...
...Behind a dusty lintel doubtless lies A tired cherub, with dead Dante's eyes...
...or One Who Never Prays Fill my cup that she may drink Though she never stop to think That the water comes from Thee, Though she never stop to say: "Father, teach me how to pray...
...He who blessed the loving heart, Surely now will take her part, One so kind unfailingly...
...kingdoms Where is my kingdom...
...CHARLES OLUF OLSEN...
...Still I know Thou wilt not mind Though the world has made her blind To the things that babies see...
...MILDRED WHITNEY STILLMAN...
...Your day is done—and mine—and we Taste silent sweet eternity...
...MARGERY SWETT MANSFIELD...
...But all alone to bed I go, I'm old and you were always slow...
...Yet kingdoms are not made by conquering, Nor kings and queens by questioning and wondering...
...On Dit {An Old Woman Keeps House) The sun lies warm upon my face, I wake and dress with quiet grace...
...This is the test, and this only...
...MARY NELL CARROLL...
...Wondi er Do not even whisper Where we found Wonder—let no stranger Walk this ground...
...z^ystic on Wheels The boy on the bicycle blends with the night, The river, the mist, the ripple-twisted light...
...One unanswered word Forever ring In an echo's endless Echoing...
...A blue shirt bellowing in the blue light, The boy on the bicycle blends with the night...
...Let us go in silence And alone— One intruding step might Strike a stone...
...J. CORSON MILLER...
...The boy on the bicycle blends with the night...
...For kings and queens to be only: Have you the substance...
Vol. 6 • May 1927 • No. 2
