Poems
Faust, Henri & O'Conor, Moreys Jephson & Dalton, Power & Lister, Queene B. & Todahl, Margery Atwood & McGinley, Phyllis
(^ix Cranes at Dusk^ I came to the lake and six cranes were there And twilight was there and a thin mist fell, The cranes were like blooms that subsist on air, Amazingly white and...
...The mallow-rose lifted a silver cup...
...Little grimy footprints Within my door— Kashans and old Bokharas Upon your floor...
...HENRI FAUST...
...Or like moon-moths, they ascended the light— Their long legs latticed the sprays of stars That clung to the high oriels of night...
...Trails through a dogwood thicket For my feet to walk upon...
...Paths built around a lily-pool To decorate your lawn...
...PHYLLIS MCGINLEY...
...Immaculate white cranes stirred from their dream: Tranquil and radiant as saints' avatars...
...The promenade is filled with people, more And more till noon...
...For my doorstep, children Of various ages...
...POWER DALTON...
...You also watched a priest who gravely wrought Transcendent miracles with bread and wine...
...Like snowflakes that melt as they skim through air, They were lost—like the throb of an ancient tune— They had crossed the marshlands of stars and there, I think, had found refuge, on lakes of the moon...
...Who knows your inarticulate prayer was not The self-same prayer as mine...
...The clangor of a tocsin struck to tell Of Guelph marauders on a foray bound, A summons to the liege lord's citadel, Or where monks keep their little square of ground ? It is the ringing of the luncheon bell...
...After Storm The golden mine of heaven is barren now, Not a nugget left, the caves are black, Down on the dusky meadows far below Every leaf and twig holds a gleaming sack...
...MARGERY ATWOOD TODAHL...
...Or tenuous pale ghosts that the shadows keep...
...And yet, a printed portrait Of a lady . . . on my wall...
...For your modern art's sake A spotted cubist cow...
...QuEENE B. LISTER...
...To kneel in such rich twilight and be dumb Before the Presence there...
...Now we may go out in the swirling blue Drenched with the dust of Pleiads and of Mars, A dark hand sprung the stormy sluice, and you And I may thrust our hands into the stars...
...The hour strikes...
...Let the thrush Be her only singer— Only shade And the glade Green around her linger...
...suddenly then The throngs flock homeward, as scared shorebirds when The sportsman hastens, driving them before...
...MoREYS JEPHSON O'CONOR...
...ix Cranes at Dusk^ I came to the lake and six cranes were there And twilight was there and a thin mist fell, The cranes were like blooms that subsist on air, Amazingly white and spirituelle...
...To An Ancestress at Church A thousand years ago you must have come On a spring morning fair as this is fair...
...T^ tviera Noon Here, where the legions clanked along the shore Where flashed the buckler of the Saracen, And princes' castles gleamed with armored men...
...And yet, a Millet peasant painting In your hall...
...The twilight blew thin and the moon came up And wove the mists in tapestries of gleam...
...Acreage Tan cows and jade-green kale In my side yard— For you, a terraced garden And a boulevard...
...For your veranda—love-birds In wicker cages...
...For my true perception, A henna-colored sow...
...Does it not seem, that distant humming sound...
...The cranes were frail loiterers at the edge Of twilight, deep plunged in a silver sleep, Or lovers transfixed in the motionless sedge...
...i^elody for a Wind-Flower Light, light, Heaven bright, Even music falters Singing the Anemone At her vernal altars...
...And jogging jennets holy pilgrims bore...
...Hush, hush...
Vol. 6 • June 1927 • No. 6
