Qass., BookJ^c NINE POEMS FROM A VALETUDINARIUM BYTHKSAMK AUTIIOU SONNETS IttOU THE PATAfiONIAN Omi 0f rrtml TWO DEATHS IM THE B80SX /n rrtjpamkion \T THE EAB Nine Poems from a Valetudinarium by DONALD EVANS PHILADELPHIA NICHOLAS L. BROWN MCMXVI I lit. 1916, by Niciiouks U Browm Arknowleclfrmmt U due to \ht W. 8. BkAITIIWAlTC AND DON MaIQVIB for permiicioD to reprint leTeral poems DEC 21 1916 ^JA I MJH7ii To: Elinor A. McCaulley CONTENTS FROM A VALETUDINARIUM APOLOGIA PRO VITA MEA I P. 11 THE temple: p. 12 ON A promenade: p. 13 AN UNKNOWN tongue: P. 14 WITH DEATH THE UNCOUTH ABEL puller: P. 17 SAMSON ALLEN: P. 19 AS A DECADENT PASSES : P. 21 WINDOWS OF WAR THE hero: P. 25 INVALIDED home: P. 27 aut ave aut vale: the velvet vise: p. 31 maternity: p. 35 prayer to be taught to a child : p. 39 the clouds were not afraid : p. 43 TO A dead journalist: p. 47 at the wheel: p. 51 From a Valetudinariura. APOLOGIA PRO VITA ME A s HALL I disavow From the years one day, Though the record read As a hand to slay ? For did I diso^vn What you will not name, The few fine things done Could I ever claim ? Must you call it pride That I will not treat As an alien act The weaker defeat ? In the drab descents Was I not still I, If I was myself When I touched the sky ? 11 THE TEMPLE I In (bo tower f Hare thr U IN Ikh^d mendad Bj strange power f Will tbev rin^ out clearlj Aj of von* ? «r Will tbev rhiiiH" ^inrrrrly Af before ? 8inro tbo bronxo uji« brokmi It haa aeoined I biive never spoken. Onlv dreamed! 12 ON A PROMENADE E VEEYWHEEE my strollings led Only cripples did I see ; Nothing but a maimed host In the streets moved wearily. It was sad to pass no man Straight and strong and madly gay, For the air shone Aiitumn-keen, And the sunlight kissed the day. Walked with me a bovhood friend — Him I asked to tell me why. He turned on me puzzled gaze That demanded what meant I ? Cripples he saw not, he said, Ordinary folk were all, Kot a halt one anywhere, Finest crowd he'd seen that Fall. 13 AN rA'A'vnirv Tnvnrji T O whom impart mv p-ief f I am a itrangrr bor^— N0D6 knows tbo tongue I tpcak, Though all ipvo willing car. T n^fnl but a abort \% i i5t: ' ' i fua my pain, Might i To whom imf»art my grief? I am a strangor ber(^— Knowing no tongiio tbcr tp^nk. Though I give willing car 14 With Death the Uncouth ABEL FULLER NONE could remember when he first came there, And built his hut behind the lime-kiln hill. His name was Ab§l, and he had an air Of being a stranger strayed from anywhere Who bore his fellows neither good nor ill. He was not lazy, yet he seldom worked, But when he did he laboured honestly; Whoever hired him could not say he shirked, Although he got only the jobs that irked. The cast-off toil that goes to poverty. He made no friends, and he would speak to few ; Even a passing greeting in the road He often left unheeded. To our view His silence hid a secret, but none knew, Nor how he lived in his remote abode. He had a way we could not understand Of picking weeds to stick into his hair ; Dead flowers, too, he'd have in either hand In Summer when the harvest filled the land. And every field with living things was fair. 17 And in tbe 8priiigiini<» whole dirt be would fpaod 8e«rching tht wood* for an unmitiHl bird. HU life WM ginnt, and it ibe very cn<\ Wben be wm dying w« wcr© there to tend. But he give im no iniwor thit we hetrd. 18 SAMSON ALLEN THEEE was the drum he played so poorly, Though all his days he prayed for skill. I^ever in life would he beat it surely, Even if the stars in heaven stood still. There was the village band renewing Always his ancient ache to play. It was the sum of his soul's undoing, And never he knew would it wear away. Little the village found amusing With no more than one straggling street, So that without so much as choosing It turned to him as its jest complete. Thus in a humor quite bucolic It clutched at him as its lawful prey ; Would it not add to the county's frolic If he should lead the band that day ? Mindful he of the vain, balked playing Could not take such a crown to wear. But he would were there no gainsaying Beat the drum for the countv fair. 19 With the t\rijt w 11 %*"i II iin* cominif. All the TiUaitt? wan ihtrw to laufrh. Nn matter if lht» rlou«U nr-. .? ^.omin^. Shoultl "••^ f'Jn writp i aphf Hen? ihcT come with piccoli •hrilling, Uv. hran» of hin p«ii«*nt iHiliiifr Shroiuled ifp hy a hlimlinp light. For none see*. «ince thev all are quailing, Jnst how the lightning made wrong right! 20 AS A DECADENT PASSES BID the dawn come ; the moonlight is too pale ; Shadows are tiring me ; the night is long. Shabby the lures of life, and they all fail, i^or is there music for a farewell song. Death has prepared the most authentic thrill ; 1 hear the whisper of his winding sheet, And, lo ! he brings me over one lone hill ^ew-cut gardenias for my head and feet. 21 Windows of War TEE HEEO H EBE'S the Victoria Cross he won — To me he gave it for his wife. He is buried in a Flemish grave, On the field where he lost his life. I^ever a chap met a braver death, Saved his men — which is best of all ! England rings with his name to-day; Thousands cry to avenge his fall. E'one knew the hero as well as I. I slept beside him every night, When sleep we did, and in his dreams His soul fought many a strange fight. What is a man when he lives in sleep With mind ranging the daily things ? Is he himself, or some one else Beyond human imaginings ? There was our friend. When sleep dropped the veil He turned coward and traitor, too ; Shielded himself behind his men — There's nothing weak he did not do. 25 Night aftrr night I heard him (iirain. iictraring ail to tare hit ikin ; Ilcartjick, I watrbccl bit rraren lipi. And prajed for battle to bc^o. Yet when the dawn came be was back. ICeady to do what none elte could. God ! What a gloriona beritairp, Tbe aoroll of bii hardihood ! I INVALIDED HOME 'N a trench we were all the same — If our shoulders touched it was not half bad ; Come gas or the tearing shrapnel hail, When shoulders pressed one would not go mad. It's the lone memory I've brought back From my twelve months' bit where the best have died- Nothing mattered if a man might feel The flesh of a comrade at his side. I've seen them fall, and the next man, Still doing his work, quite unconsciously Sidewise would edge till his sleeve could rub The sleeve of another for company. 27 Aut Ave Aiit Vale : The Velvet Vise AUT AVE AUT VALE: THE VELVET VISE Y OUR hand, more soft than a live dove, More white than fledgling wings, You offer as you might my glove, And while it lies it sings. It is too small for my mastery — It wins its own release ; Yet you testing its potency You know it brings not peace. 31 Maternity MATERNITY YOU have come back to us who need you so — You who have felt the hovering hands of death, While we sat here Enduring an eternity of fear, With choking breath, Lest we should know. Earth gives us you and Spring. Out on the hill The youngling leaves, the apple trees in bloom Chant life anew. We offer up our prayer, our thanks, that you In Death's own room Found doom nor ill. 35 Prayer to Be Taught to a Child B PRAYER TO BE TAUGHT TO A CHILD ODY, keep thyself fair to see ; Beauty is bride of eternity. But, O my soul, hold thou in fee Always the body of me ! Z9 The Clouds Were l^ot Afraid s THE CLOUDS WERE NOT AFRAID AIL on, white clouds, to what St. Brandan's isle, The sky is wide, and all of it your home; Relentless steersman this November wind. But what fear you, what care you where you roam ? I watch your passage undulant and sure. And from the upper air you signal me An ensigned word of my enfranchisement Through all the Cinque-Ports of modernity. 43 To a Dead Journalist F TO A DEAD JOURNALIST IXALLY, life was kind. It let him die. 47 At the Wheel AT THE WHEEL SHE holds my lost illusions in her hands, And all the hours of vain tenderness, The wasted faiths, the prides of brave address — She gives me back mj title and my lands. There are two voices when I speak to her ; The words are cool and ordered in their spell. But my soul hears the muted syllable Large with the mutiny it may not stir. There is so little that she keeps from me. Only herself? And who may touch the Queen? I wait her coming obediently serene, With one petition for my loyalty, That she will make with Death a royal third. Untouched she turns the wheel. She has not heard. 51 LIST IN BELLES-LETTRES LIST IN BELLES-LETTRES Published by NICHOLAS L. BROWN PHILADELPHIA, PA. THE AWAKENING OF SPRING. By Frank Wedekind. A tragedy of childhood dealing with the sex question in its relationship to the education of children. Fifth edition. Cloth, gilt top, deckle edge, $1.25 net. By mail, $1.35. "Here is a play which on its production caused a sensation in Ger- many, and can without exaggeration be described as remark- able. These studies of adolescence are as impressive as they are unique." — The Athenceum, London. THE CREDITOR. By August Strindberg. Translated from the Swedish by Francis J. Ziegler. A psychological study of the divorce question by one of the greatest Scandinavian dramatists. Clotii, 75 cents net; postage, 8 cents. It was pro- duced for the first time in 1889, when it was given at Copen- hagen as a substitute for "Froken Julie," the performance of which was forbidden by the censor. Four years later Berlin audiences made its acquaintance, since when it has remained the most popular of Strindberg's plays in Germany. TWO DEATHS IN THE BRONX. By Donald Evans. Ebony grey boards, antique wove paper. $1.00 net. Mr. Evans has again sounded a new note in poetry, and possibly an important one. The modernism, mistakenly called Futurism, that in the "Sonnets from the Patagonian" sometimes merely amazed, in the present instance, stimulates and satisfies. The volume is a series of pitiless photographs of profligate men and women who fritter away life, seeking new pleasures, new sensations. It is a gallery of inurable poseurs. 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So out of thr mouth of the worWi mo*! terrible t \ r^iry Drama, OothTTS 'Air en ts cnarmmic it9, i/oj' , r\»/-» TME WOMAN AND THE FIDDLER. A play hi three arts Ame Norreranic Translated from the Norwefiao by Mra Hernran '---'- RJ rrnt« fiddler % vkho for the peasu FOR A vrr.TTT the I av of I) fa havinK tint ' Sr deriui a't arm jr-. »».;»i '\i\ Ooth, uncut «"^'»«*» "^ rfn>* nrt By mail. lay it bated u ^ndi of the 1 \4iirT ti valley, playinc \ novrTrttr h%' Fmfte 7ola. Translated from •h. 75 centi net. Pott- not moralize, but with relentless pen delineates that madness of Therese sown in her soul from birth — a madness which her convent training rather enhances than abrogates. The book contains two other typical Zola stories: "The Maid of the Dawber" and "Compliments" — two delightful, crisp bits of literature. FRO KEN JULIE (Countess Julia). A Naturalistic Tragedy, by August Strindberg. Cloth, 75 cents net; by mail, 83 cents. Says Mr. James Huneker: It is an emotional bombshell. The social world seems topsy-turvied after a first reading. After a second, while the gripping power does not relax, one realizes the writer's deep, almost abysmal knowledge of human nature. . . . Passion there is, and a horrible atmosphere of reality. Everything is brought about naturally, inevitably. Be it under- stood, Strindberg is never pornographic, nor does he show a naked soul merely to afford a charming diversion, which is the practice of some French dramatists. That kitchen — fancy a kitchen as a battlefield of souls ! — with its good-hearted and pious cook, the impudent scoundrel of a valet eager for revenge on his superiors, and the hallucinated girl from above stairs — it is a tiny epic of hatred, of class against mass. THE LIVING CORPSE (Zhivoi Trup). A Drama in six Acts and twelve Tableaux, by Count Leo N. Tolstoi. Second edi- tion. Cloth, 75 cents net ; by mail, 83 cents. There is no ques- tion as to the tremendous power and simple impressiveness of this posthumous work, which is the literary sensation of the day not alone in Russia, but throughout Europe. As a protest against certain marriage and divorce laws, the absurdity of which is portrayed with a satiric pen, "The Living Corpse" is a most effective document. SUCH IS LIFE. A Play in five Acts, by Frank Wedekind, Author of "The Awakening of Spring," etc. Second edition. Cloth, gilt top, raw edge, net, $L25; by mail, $1.34. Whatever Wedekind's theme may be, it is always sure to be treated in a strikingly original fashion. In "Such is Life" it is Regality and Kingship. Though the locale is mediaeval Italy, the scene might as well have been laid at the present day, but this was, perhaps, too dangerous. While satire runs as an undercurrent throughout, the play is primarily one of tense dramatic situa- tions and a clearly outlined plot, full of color and action. Por- tions of the play are written in verse — verse that runs with almost Elizabethan fire and impetuosity. FAIRY OUACKBNBOSE. Hy Arthur K Sirrn A FAiry TftW w„», \T^t^^ T-.».,.rtaMBU. »" ' »7 IretkIL A book lor lyncfM of roodrm Fairylaad. K! nf rlijrmct will MMMt or »4xty. aad its tinplii, .{€ oMkc it ptfocolirly pIcMM . .rent or tcacMT cm BRord to bt wtthoot. BoordiL Nct« 75 cents. By mail, 84 ccsts. PLAYS AN on ' ' in on B.\ xix T- FLOK odd •< bcmn ttOQ O! lith dr have r of the . . ney Ler. 1 of Mary 1 written in TS. Rv Fmeit Lscy. 2 volamcs, primed Vohtmc 1 1 : ^ "Uy in 5 A vii 4 - tn 7 etchings. cdcr. Price per vol* ri:;er. Volume I: THE !•* a r'a^ in 5 Acts. iKxrroR OF ^ty iMuait.o ..rd 4> tiic ^ir^icii |ii«j* ever Frnr\frn\ »ide«. the ar- my) • in frr or onkn4>Mn ' are not o? inff see t) lorii>r« : ffilt lop. decklt "'0 copies ~t ooota > SQCce* ! Pirrrr ^22S net. The . vokime tnow «cd ia ore irfi! by tly led A krrti |»rfi — ;> faith fulnrti \ ■ . re the flowers of pait sfct will nnd them hert. DANTE AND OTHER WANING CLASSICS. By Albert Mordell, cloth, $1.00 net. GEORGE BRANDES, the world's greatest living literary critic, wrote to the author after read- ing this book: "If I originally had any scruples against your fundamental idea, these scruples completely ceased when I thoroughly examined the execution of your plan. Now I am of your opinion. It is necessary to say once for all that these books of past times no longer correspond to our intellectual needs. You have had the courage to say it frankly. Even if they attack it at present, in the future, and not at all in a distant future, they will be grateful to you for having said it." VIE DE BORDEAUX. By Pitts Sanborn. A volume of poems in English. Boards, net $1.00. In this book of free verse Mr. Sanborn has interpreted the soul of old Bordeaux in the hour of war. The poems are executed with a rare fidelity of realism and rhythm and they show a France curiously and sublimely unafraid, fulfilled of the joy of living, but quite indifferent to death. The sorrow, the terror, the cruel wastage of war are everywhere present in the volume, but the author has adopted the method of painting the panorama far removed from the front; where the echo of the tumult of guns is "heard" only in the daily life of those who are not fighting. It is perhaps in his portrayal of France's intrepid womanhood that Mr. Sanborn is most moving, and his analysis of grief marks him as a real psychologist. NINE POEMS FROM A VALETUDINARIUM. By Donald Evans. Boards, net $1.00. In this latest volume we have Donald Evans, the arch-attitudinist, the maker of glittering and feverishly adroit phrases, suddenly become grave and simple, unaffected and humble, deserting the melodrama of Futurism and returning to academic prosody. Those who know his previous work will say some fundamental upheaval of spirit has occurred in the poet. Is he now emerging from behind his awful barriers? Has he conquered life, himself? About this book there is a halo of beauty and an ennobling music that mark only poetry of indisputable fineness. For the first time this sardonic singer writes in a mood of supreme reverence. MODERN AUTHORS' SERIES. Under this title appear from time to time short stories and dramas, chiefly translations from the works of modern European authors, each containing from 32 to 64 pages. Printed in large. dmt vJlir homd In grmy boftrdt «ndi p^v liM. SIL£NCE. e RomUq dat Aodrviytf •dilbQ. An uoummI tbort non uai rcid* likr t pots to by the kadliif upo a cm of tbt nrtr Ruttun tchool of IfOTHERLOVE. I > m thr of Aogv** !brrc ScCOad odUiuiL An r&am; !r '.\ietf^% po» .x\u of huRun nature. A RED FLT \ >rw • 1 r.^r.v n \ ; «rful thon •tory by o:.4 ;>o(>u ar aulhurt, uukowo M jrct ID the Eaglitb-ftpr THE GRISLFY SUITOR. From the Gcmun of Frank We<$e- kind An excellent ttory of the De-Maopuaat type RABBI F:'*'^ *^'^ -•"- VICTIM Bv PrmA WtMrfiid. Two %V of the pen of this noted author. Olhrr voimmus im Prt^r alien Circulart of SubKription Books free on Rc^octt