Poems
Dresbach, Glenn Ward & Pfeiffer, Edward H. & Viera, Affonso Lopez & Roche, Loretta & Zabel, Morton & Lister, Queene B.
(guitars of Alcdcer Guitars, guitars of Alcacer-Quibir— Your song of sorrow is sweet to hear. You sing of lovers' hearts enchained, Of chestnut eyes, of kisses gained. Guitars, guitars of...
...Or glides along the whispering grass With rabbits for his prey...
...You weep o'er yearnings kind, so kind...
...Sle leep If the grave Is very dark— Lie over, dear...
...S^ trens On harp of gold he makes his plea, The king who walks with silent tread, And round him chant unwearyingly The voices of the lovers dead...
...LoRETTA ROCHE...
...cadence Your moods, impermanent as songs in sleep, Light as the tinkle of a prism, set Dangling above a bowl of mignonette...
...Are smilingly dismissed as a quaint pose Assumed for sake of nonchalance, and, gay Rejection of the obvious...
...With an apologetic droop Unpleasantries he would forget, And lets his magnanimity Be seen in silhouette...
...If the grave Is very dark— Let us be wrapped In the same silk cobweb Of silence...
...They tell me, over life, and take great pride In standing decent dullness on its head...
...At other times he feels the thrill Of chase where sheep or lost calves stray...
...And looks about him with appraising glance...
...He floats remote in beauty: when he dies May he die thus possessed, with lidded eyes...
...FROM THE PORTUGUESE OF AFFONSO LOPEZ VIERA...
...And ease our longings on the wind...
...Your opalescent ardors, never deep With memories of beauty snatched away And buried where remembrance rarely goes...
...Translated by Thomas Walsh...
...He was responsive boy to every call Till now—^he has the distance of a god...
...QuEENE B. LISTER...
...You weep o'er yearnings, weaving, weaving The woof of love in fond hearts grieving...
...Let cougars stalk the maddened bulls...
...Let prowling lynx and eagle fight— He is the shadow at the edge Of shadow, day and night...
...EDWARD H . PFEIFFER...
...Strange yet unguarded, he has caught the cool Breath in his spirit of the indolent plants That stand around, austere and shadow-tall...
...GLENN WARD DRESBACH...
...The Little Wolf The coyote is a little wolf Who leaves with an insouciant air When stronger hunters pause to look— And then he is not there...
...Before the victor's feast is done The little wolf comes softly there...
...But at respectful distance waits So patiently his share...
...Without the arrogance of sunny sod...
...But he is bravest when alone He squats upon a shadow-dune And calls his kind across the night, Nose pointed to the moon...
...One rides with zest through April-freshened air Who has walked wintry miles beside despair...
...And let us sleep On the same pillow...
...MORTON ZABEL...
...You tread Too blithely on solemnity, and ride...
...And when their luring song is sung, He lays aside his harp of gold, And lo, the old man's heart is young, And lo, the young man's heart is old...
...The Young Swimmer He dives, an easy comet, bright and slim, And where the shadows float he disappears, The dace and sunfish dart away from him As he arises, tossing from his ears And eyes the dark, sweet water of the pool...
...Your soft lamenting ends in cries For the love that fades, for the love that dies...
Vol. 6 • July 1927 • No. 9
