Poetry: A Magazine of Verse, Volume 01 October-March, 1912-13

And some day, all of the world that beats And cries at my door, shall see A thousand moon-leaves sprout from my thatch On a marvellous white Moon-tree! Then each shall have moon...

Aside from gaining in childhood this strong, practical objection to famous poetry, people achieve the deadly habit of reading metrical lines unimaginatively. After forming--gene...

It is a little isle amid bleak seas-- An isolate realm of garden, circled round By importunity of stress and sound, Devoid of empery to master these. At most, the memory of its...

The autumn dusk, not yearly but eternal, Is haunted by thy voice. Who turns his way far from the valleys vernal And by dark choice Disturbs those heights which from the low-lyin...

Pull down the blinds, bring fiddle and clarionet, Let there be no foot silent in the room, Nor mouth with kissing nor the wine unwet. Our Father Rosicross is in his tomb.

_Dauber_ will have value to American poetry-readers if only from its mere power of revealing that poetry is not alone the mellow lin-lan-lone of evening bells, though it be that...

But there came no hand all the slow night through to draw the folds aside, (I longed as the moon and the vine-leaves longed!) or to set the casement wide.

The six poems now published were chosen from a hundred lyrics about to appear in book form. They might just as well have been any other six, for they do not represent a summit o...

But, at a stroke, a breath, After the fear of death, Or bent beneath a load; Yes, ragged in the dress, And houseless on the road, I might surprise you there. Yes: who of us shal...

" ... _Mais d'abord il faut etre un poete_," as MM. Duhamel and Vildrac have said at the end of their little book, "_Notes sur la Technique Poetique_"; but in an American one ta...