Swung by a gust in its plunge through the pallid

ember

Of dusk, and the heel

Of the fierce green dark grinding the stars like steel. Reprinted by permission of the author and The New Republic.

The Squall

Leonora Speyer

Leonora von Stosch Speyer was born in Washington, D. C. In addition to writing poetry, she lectures on poetry and music. Before her marriage to Sir Edgar Speyer, she was a violinist of note.

This ingenious, accurate, and vivid description challenges the skill of the reader. The irregular line arrangement, in the first place, must be smoothly passed over and phrased in thoughtunits. Then, too. the whole poem is full of quick changes, requiring great variety in rate and force. It is one of those poems that may well be tried over and over with varying experiments to secure the best vocal effects.

Ir sweeps gray-winged across the obliterated hills, And the startled lake seems to run before it :

From the woods comes a clamor of leaves,

Tugging at twigs,

Pouring from the branches,

And suddenly the birds are still.

Thunder crumples the sky,

Lightning tears it.

And now the rain.

The rain-thudding-implacable—

The wind, revelling in the confusion of great pines!

And a silver sifting of light,

A coolness:

A sense of summer anger passing,

Of summer gentleness creeping nearer-
Penitent-tearful—

Forgiven!

Reprinted by permission of Poetry, A Magazine of Verse, and by permission of, and special arrangement with, E. P. Dutton and Company.

An Angler's Wish

Henry Van Dyke

Henry Van Dyke was born at Germantown, Pennsylvania, in 1852. Until recently he was active as Professor of English at Princeton University. In his lifetime he has attained success in many varied fields, having been successful as an author of poems, essays, and stories, and having been a minister, an educator, and a diplomatist.

This poem is permeated with the breath of spring. It is bright, but there is a sort of lazy relaxation that qualifies the lightness. It is full of longing, too, but never petulant. Resignation and complete satisfaction characterize the last two stanzas, which may be delivered very slowly, the vowels being prolonged and attenuated so as to bring out their full value. Be careful to end slowly.

I

WHEN tulips bloom in Union Square,
And timid breaths of vernal air

Go wandering down the dusty town,
Like children lost in Vanity Fair;

When every long, unlovely row
Of westward houses stands aglow,

And leads the eyes toward sunset skies
Beyond the hills where green trees grow,-

Then weary seems the street parade, And weary books, and weary trade: I'm only wishing to go a-fishing; For this the month of May was made.

I

2

guess the pussy willows now
Are creeping out on every bough
Along the brook; and robins look
For early worms behind the plow.

The thistle birds have changed their dun
For yellow coats, to match the sun;
And in the same array of flame
The dandelion show's begun.

The flocks of young anemones
Are dancing round the budding trees:
Who can help wishing to go a-fishing
In days as full of joy as these?

3

I think the meadow lark's clear sound Leaks upward slowly from the ground,

While on the wing the bluebirds ring Their wedding bells to woods around.

The flirting chewink calls his dear
Behind the bush; and very near,

Where water flows, where green grass grows, Song sparrows gently sing, "Good Cheer."

And, best of all, through twilight's calm
The hermit thrush repeats his psalm.
How much I'm wishing to go a-fishing
In days so sweet with music's balm!

4

'Tis not a proud desire of mine; I ask for nothing superfine;

No heavy weight, no salmon great, To break the record-or my line:

Only an idle little stream,

Whose amber waters softly gleam,

Where I may wade, through woodland shade, And cast the fly, and loaf, and dream:

Only a trout or two, to dart

From foaming pools, and try my art:

No more I'm wishing-old-fashioned fishing, And just a day on Nature's heart.

Reprinted by permission of the author, and by permission of, and by special arrangement with, Charles Scribner's Sons. the publishers of the author's works.

The Chant of the Colorado

(At the Grand Canyon)

Cale Young Rice

Cale Young Rice was born in Dixon, Ky., December 7th, 1872. He is a poet, dramatist, and short story writer, and was professor of English Literature in Cumberland University in 1896-1897. He has since devoted himself to the writing of poetry, poetic drama, and occasional prose.

The majesty and beauty of the Grand Canyon of the Colorado are well reflected in this poem. Be sure, by due emphasis, to bring out the antithesis implied in the first two lines of each stanza. The poem as a whole should be delivered firmly, with a touch of the heroic. Do not, however, neglect the few lyric lines that appear in each stanza. Deliver the poem slowly enough to bring out all the grandeur, and yet not too slowly to mar the value of the rhyme scheme.

My brother, man, shapes him a plan
And builds him a house in a day,

But I have toiled through a million years
For a home to last alway.

I have flooded the sands and washed them down,

I have cut through gneiss and granite.

No toiler of earth has wrought as I,

Since God's first breath began it.

High mountain buttes have I chiselled, to shade My wanderings to the sea.

With the wind's aid, and the cloud's aid,

Unweary and mighty and unafraid,

I have bodied eternity.

My brother, man, builds for a span:
His life is a moment's breath.
But I have hewn for a million years,
Nor a moment dreamt of death.