GIFT OF Class o 19 oo MARY CARLYN DAVIES, former student at University of California, who has won Morgenthau poetry prize. She is a poet and novelist. THE DRUMS IN OUR STREET THE MACMILLAN COMPANY NEW YORK BOSTON CHICAGO DALLAS ATLANTA SAN FRANCISCO MACMILLAN & CO., LIMITED LONDON BOMBAY CALCUTTA MELBOURNE THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD, TORONTO THE DRUMS IN OUR STREET 3 13oofc of Mar porm s BY MARY CAROLYN DAVIES j ;**-* j *j *" Nttn THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 1918 tt reserved COPYRIGHT, 19x8, BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY. Set up and electrotyped. Published September, 1918. NorinooU tyrtss J. S. Gushing Co. Berwick & Smitn Co. Norwood, Mass., U.S.A. So MY THREE BROTHERS SERGEANT A. H. DAVIES COMPANY E, 4 BATTALION, ZOTH ENGINEERS, A.E.F. SERGEANT S. L. DAVIES COMPANY D, 6TH BATTALION, ZOTH ENGINEERS, A.E.F. SERGEANT L. L. DAVIES BASE HOSPITAL 46, A.E.F. FORMERLY CORPORAL, SEVENTIETH BATTERY CANADIAN FIELD ARTILLERY (DISCHARGED FOR WOUNDS) 382793 THANKS are due to the following magazines for permission to republish many of these poems: "Century, * "Poetry," "Touchstone," "Na tion," "Collier s," "Cosmopolitan," "Youth s Companion," "Everybody s," " McClure s," "Good Housekeeping," "Designer," " Mun- sey s," "Smith s," "Ainslee s," and others. CONTENTS PART I THE BLOOD-STAINED CROSS .... 3 THE DRUMS ARE ECHOING IN OUR STREET . 7 AMERICA 1917-1918 8 PEACE 9 ON LEAVE IN A STRANGE LITTLE TOWN . . 10 SOLDIER LOVE 12 A BOY SOLDIER S PRAYER 14 "JOAN, WHO LEADS THE SOLDIERS" 16 IN OUR STREET 19 AT WIPERS AND CALVARY 21 A CASUALTY LIST 23 THE NEW PLAYFELLOW 26 EVAN 28 WAR 31 A WAR WEDDING 32 SPRING Sows HER SEEDS 33 SMITH, OF THE THIRD OREGON, DIES . . 36 THE MOVIES IN FRANCE 39 [ix] Contents PAGE YOUNG DEATH . 41 SCHOOLMATES ....... 43 THE DEAD SON . V 46 SOUNDS ... . . . . . 49 "HIGHLANDERS, Fix BAYONETS" *- V 50 "LET S PRETEND" . V . V . . 59 FOR A YOUNG SOLDIER . . . . . 61 IN A MIRROR . ., ; . . . 62 PURGED BY WAR . ... . . . 65 ON A TROOP TRAIN . . . . _ . . 66 THE GREAT WAR .... . . . 68 FIRE OF THE SUN . ..... .69 IF HE CAME Now . . . . . . 71 THE CHINQUAPIN TRAIL . . . . 73 ON AN OLD BATTLEFIELD . . ; . -75 THE RECRUITING STATION AT THE NEW YORK PUBLIC LIBRARY 76 THE GENEROUS GIVER 78 THE GAY LAD DEATH 81 RICHARD LOVELACE AND RICHARD SMITH . . 85 A GIRLS WAR SEWING CLASS . > . . 88 TENEMENT WINDOWS . . . - . . 95 THE WAR BULLETIN . . . . >. . 97 THE BIRDS BETWEEN THE TRENCHES . . 98 Contents PAGE A CALIFORNIAN IN FRANCE . . * .* 99 A SONG OF SEVERAL YOUNG MEN . . . 101 RED SUNDAY ,102 MY CHUM 104 THE LITTLE TRAIL TO DEATH . . . .107 WOUNDED RED CROSS NURSE . . . .109 PART II THE DRUMS IN OUR SQUARE . . . .113 LAST NIGHT IJ S ENLISTED Il8 THE BROKEN PROMISE 120 A GREENWICH VILLAGE TEA ROOM . . .121 AT THE GRAND CENTRAL STATION . . .123 "ANYTHING You WANT" 125 A SOLDIER S WIFE 127 PART I THE DRUMS IN OUR STREET THE BLOOD-STAINED CROSS (From a rosary found on the body of a poilu killed at the battle of Festubert.) A BLACK cross and a bloody With a small Christ on a tree, A black cross and a bloody From a dead man s rosary, To count no Ave Marys To say no prayers by rote A black cross and a bloody I wear upon my throat; A black cross and a bloody I wear upon a chain [3] The Dris-ffw in Our Street To keep in this my body Still, still, his body s pain; A black cross and a bloody To let me not again Sleep satisfied or calm until A murderer be slain. The young dead man had stiffened. His fingers held from harm In wooden clasp the cross that now Upon my throat is warm. About him fell my kinsmen; The foe they could not stem; And since I have no token I keep this cross for them. Blackcrusted blood makes holy The black cross at my throat. [4] The Drums in Our Street And to the Christ upon it I say no prayers by rote : Kind prayers I have forgotten, The little prayers of peace Until a death be compassed I have not time for these. Until his death be compassed Who slew my kin, I keep The little cross upon me To tell me, in my sleep, Even in dreams, to strengthen My arm to join my blow With others to bring death to him Who laid my kinsmen low. I wear the black cross that has been In a dead man s hand. I dedicate The Drums in Our Street My life, my power, my strength, my hate To this : For what his deeds have been To slay the one who slew my kin. BEAUTY AND JOY ARE KIN TO ME AND YOUTH. WAR SLEW THEM UTTERLY. 6] THE DRUMS ARE ECHOING IN OUR STREET The drums are echoing in our street. Each has heard the music sweet : Jones, and Lena, and her three Boys; and Mrs. Rafferty. The drums are echoing in our street. They change each life, as on they beat. And Ruth has heard them, Glen, and Guy, And Mrs. Henderson and I. AMERICA 1917-1918 A nation goes adventuring! With new and shining mail A nation goes adventuring To seek the Holy Grail. A nation leaves its money-bags, Its fireside safe and warm, To ride about the windy world And keep the weak from harm. A nation goes adventuring, With heart that will not quail, God grant it, on some hard-won dawn, Sight of the Holy Grail. [8] PEACE When all the war is made and done, And in our town I stand once more, From other homes I ll seek out one And knock upon its door. And I will wait there patiently Until I hear your step, and then As the worn door swings back, will see Your face look out again. And that is all peace means to me Some day to walk up past the store, And past the corner chestnut tree, And knock upon your door. [91 ON LEAVE IN A STRANGE LITTLE TOWN On leave in a strange little town, Soldiers and sailors are chaffing With eyes deep and still, faces brown, Are filling the streets and laughing. Free from the trenches smother, And their deafening days and nights, Some are kissing a happy mother, Some only stare at the sights. More and more they come crowding Till the streets seem full of blue, Khaki and blue; tired sailors, Soldiers whose leave is due. [10] The Drums in Our Street For the marching and shooting and drill ing Each has received his pay. After the hating and killing The men are on leave today; Their songs ringing sweet and free, Their laughter sounding bold On leave in a strange little town Whose streets are of gold. SOLDIER LOVE Soldier love s a wild love, and soldier love s a glad, And that is the love he gives to me. And the love that I give my lad Is a keen love and a swift love and a gay love and a blind. Time enough for weeping when I am left behind. Time enough for weeping and counting motives then, When the feet of my lad have fallen in step with the feet of the marching men. It s the soldier love that he gives me, the desperate, reckless sort [12] The Drums in Our Street Which comes of knowing that death s abroad and may gather one in for sport. Soldier love s a strange love, that only has today. Lean, then, from the saddle, and kiss and ride away ! Now the world is dying, with blood its ways are wet, Soldier love s the only love that any lass may get. 113] A BOY SOLDIER S PRAYER God, I have the excitement here, The thrill, and all the peasants cheering And crowding in from far and near She has the silence and her fearing. And I have youth to make the most Of this adventure. She is old. Each perilous hour of mine s a ghost That haunts her with its news untold. We only give ourselves, and we Have songs and drums to keep it high, Our courage. But the mothers see Their children go to live or die. And soon I ll have the trenches, and The men, the banter and the jesting; [14] The Drums in Our Street The joy Pll hardly understand Of perilous, wondrous questing. The search for something great in life, Some heroism in my soul, Even in the mud, the noise of strife There in our crowded hole. God, don t mind me, I ask of you, I ve all the comrades, and the lark; And men, beside me, coming too, If I must go into the Dark. ***** But in a house back from the street, Where honeysuckles with their stir Make the yard Spring; you ll find a sweet Tired woman. God, be good to her. "JOAN, WHO LEADS THE SOLDIERS" Joan, who leads the soldiers, listen to a prayer ; Joan, who heartens fighting men; and makes them bold to dare, When the word is given, side by side, as soldiers may, All the rain of hate and hell because you lead the way You were once a little maid, in the Spring you had Pleasure in the bashful words of some comely lad. [16) The Drums in Our Street If you have not quite forgot, lend a listen ing ear; Joan of blessed memory, bend to me and hear. Where the tallest men of all, where the bravest stand, You will see a stalwart youth, firm of eye and hand : (Joan, who leads the soldiers, listen to a maid !) You will know him by his eyes, that are not afraid, You will know him by his mouth, that is laughing still. When from out the angry sky singing missiles spill, [17] The Drums in Our Street You that lead the soldiers, hold your blessed arm Before the face of my own lad, and keep him safe from harm. [18] IN OUR STREET The war has wakened me to see The greatness in the clerk across the way, The high nobility In my next neighbor whom I never saw With anything of awe Until I knew her sons had gone three tall And awkward youths. She sings about the hall And porch, at sweeping, and is happier Than all the town. I sometimes look at her And wonder, and wish that I, too, could be gay. The lanky clerk who never seemed to care About big things he went. There was an air The Drums in Our Street Of being on great projects, in his face, A trace Of kingliness I d not have thought of there. There were songs within him, though his lips were dumb. Because of these two, I, Though I am cowardly, try To keep from weeping when no letters come [20] AT WIPERS AND CALVARY^ The boy who was first to die For the cause they are fighting for Links his arm and walks with the lads Who are going to die in the war. He bled in agony A very long time ago. Now they greet him comradely, With eyes that newly know. They are brothers-in-arms in the old, Old war that is never done; So with him they jest, as they march and rest, In the snow and the mud and the sun, [21] The Drums in Our Street With the boy who was first to die In the fight to make men free. For it matters little where one goes out At Wipers or Calvary. 22] A CASUALTY LIST There was always waiting in our mother s eyes, Anxiety and wonder and surmise, Through the long days, and in the longer, slow, Still afternoons, that seemed to never go, And in the evenings, when she used to sit And listen to our casual talk, and knit. And when the day was dark and rainy, and Not fit to be abroad in, she would stand Beside the window, and peer out and shiver, As small sleek raindrops joined to make a river That rushed, tempestuous, down the window pane, [23] The Drums in Our Street And say, "I wonder what they do in rain? Is it wet there in the trenches, do you think ? " And she would wonder if he had his ink And razor blades and toothpaste that she sent; And if he read much in his Testament, Or clean forgot, some mornings, as boys will. But always the one wonder in her eyes Was, "Is he living, living, living, still Alive and gay ? Or lying dead somewhere Out on the ground, and will they find him there?" She closed her lids each night upon that look Of waiting, as a hand might close a book But never change the words that were within. [24] The Drums in Our Street And when the morning noises would begin A new day, and a young sun touched the skies, Again she woke with waiting in her eyes. / But that is over now. She does not read The lists of casualties, since that one came A week or two ago. There is no need. She s making sweaters now for other men And knitting just as carefully as then. There is no change, except that as she plies Her needles, swift and rhythmic as before, There is no waiting in our mother s eyes, Anxiety or wonder any more. [251 THE NEW PLAYFELLOW When we were six and seven, What games we used to know ! What stern adventures centered Round an arrow and a bow, Round sticks and stilts and marbles ! And, oh, the pride we knew, We girls who were admitted Into the scornful crew Of crimson-turbaned pirates ! What loyalty our clan Acknowledged to the leader And to each maid and man ! A league against the grown-ups, Our kingdom we d defend, [26] The Drums in Our Street The little land of make-believe, Beyond the rainbow s end. When childhood s game was finished, Still in our little street / When Spring came in, how often We used to laugh and meet While dusk turned green to blackness, And blotted out the blue. (It s Spring ! The blind would know it, The air s so soft and new.) But I am very lonely. The moon goes up the hill And yet the street that echoed Is newly, strangely, still; For, in a foreign country, (O scent of lilac breath !), The boys I used to play with Are playing now with Death. [27] EVAN The war is not in Europe. No. It s here In our parlor, underneath the chandelier Where Evan used to sit, and hold his head Within his hands, a problem there before him He couldn t make the thing come right, he said. It was natural to watch him studying there. There s no one sitting now in Evan s chair; It s curious not to see that shock of hair And those hunched shoulders. No, he isn t dead, At least, we haven t heard so yet; he s only [28] The Drums in Our Street Across there, with the Engineers, and writes Often enough. We read them here at nights, The letters, and the natural, commonplace Smudged sentences make changes in each face. Twould be ingratitude to say we re lonely : We ve all the girls here yet, and they are good And gentle, doing calmly, as they should, The chores of living. And we ve all we need, Or maybe more, to eat and wear and read. We have each other and the girls. Then he Likes the excitement there, he writes, and we [29] The Drums in Our Street Must not feel worried, for he s fine and fit, And proud to be out there and do his bit. It s strange that I should mind, should fret or fear Or feel the war is not in France, but here [30] WAR We d not have had the grit to be in love Had not war given a shove To our slow cautiousness, and made us know That there is no tomorrow anywhere That those who care Should not take chances so. And so we married and you went away To fight. And I am glad we didn t wait. How queer it is to think it should be hate And bitterness, that gave the shove That pushed us into love. A WAR WEDDING My life is made of five long nights And five swift days, like birds whose flights Have taken them to where the earth Below them, is a small, strange thing Of very little worth. My life is made of five bright days And five kind nights. I heard you praise My beauty, in your faint, hushed tone That no one else has ever heard. And this is all I own. Five nights and five strange days, and then You died to save your fellow-men. I never lived until I saw Within your eyes that thirst and awe. And I shall never live again. [32] SPRING SOWS HER SEEDS Why are you doing it this year, Spring ? Why do you do this useless thing ? Do you not know there are no men now ? Why do you put on an apple bough Buds, and in a girl s heart, thronging Strange emotions : fear, and longing, Eager flight, and shy pursuing, Noble thoughts for her undoing; Wondering, accepting, straining, Wistful seizing, and refraining; Stern denying, answering? Why do you toil so drolly, Spring? [331 The Drums in Our Street Why do you scheme and urge and plan To make a girl s heart ripe for a man, While the men are herded together where Death is the woman with whom they pair ? Back fall my words to my listening ear. Spring is deaf, and she cannot hear. Spring is blind, and she cannot see. She does not know what war may be. Spring goes by, with her age-old sowing Of seeds in each girl s heart; kind, un knowing. And, too, in my heart, (Spring, oh, heed !) Now in my own has fallen a seed. (Spring, give over !) I cringe, afraid. (Though I suffer, harm no other maid !) [34] The Drums in Our Street I hide my eyes, a budding tree Is so terrible to see. I stop my ears, a bird song clear Is a dreadful thing to hear. Seeds in each girl s heart she goes throwing. Oh, the crop of pain that is growing! [351 SMITH, OF THE THIRD OREGON, DIES "Autumn in Oregon is wet as Spring, And green, with little singings in the grass, And pheasants flying, Gold, green and red, Great, narrow, lovely things, As if an orchid had snatched wings. There are strange birds like blots against a sky Where a sun is dying. Beyond the river where the hills are blurred A cloud, like the one word Of the too-silent sky, stirs, and there stand Black trees on either hand. Autumn in Oregon is wet and new As spring, [36] The Drums in Our Street And puts a fever like Spring s, in the cheek That once has touched her dew And it puts longing too In eyes that once have seen Her season-flouting green, And ears that listened to her strange birds speak. "Autumn in Oregon I ll never see Those hills again, a blur of blue and rain Across the old Willamette. I ll not stir A pheasant as I walk, and hear it whirr Above my head, an indolent, trusting thing. When all this silly dream is finished here, The fellows will go home, to where there fall Rose-petals over every street, and all The year is like a friendly festival. [371 The Drums in Our Street But I shall never watch those hedges drip Color, nor see the tall spar of a ship In our old harbor. They say that I am dying, Perhaps that s why it all comes back again ; Autumn in Oregon, and pheasants flying " 38] THE MOVIES IN FRANCE You give me home : the pepper trees Shaking a little in the breeze, And rows of swaying palms I close My eyes before I look at those, Like praying before food. The high Great palms like swords against the sky, The drooping ones that curve and bend, Are each to homesick eyes, a friend. The great gray hills of home I see Before me lie alluringly, And sunny towns, like those I know. Familiar buildings, row on row, A house in shining cool concrete Like one that stands across the street From ours, at home ! The acacia stirred The old way then. My eyes are blurred, [39] The Drums in Our Street The tale ? I do not care or know What girl and lover come and go Beneath those trees, upon those hills What kiss enthralls, or murder thrills The rest to grieving or delight For I am home, am home to-night ! YOUNG DEATH Men always said that Death was old, A slow, bent man with wrinkled hand Who with a shining sickle, stern and cold Went reaping through the land. But now we have learned bitterly They only spoke with ignorant tongue. This year has touched our eyes and now we see That Death is fair and young. With other drilling lads he stands Shoulder to shoulder in the street, As stern his mouth as theirs, as quick his hands, As eager his young feet. The Drums in Our Street Above their heads there hang the prayers Of mothers. Boyish hearts beat bold. Ah, hardly can we tell his face from theirs. . . . Would God that Death were old! [42 SCHOOLMATES He came a thousand miles to spend an hour With me before his unit went to France. I saw that he was changed in that first glance. This boy whom I had known at college had A different look not sad, But thoughtful. There was not the old- time fear Of folks, but he was shyer, even so, Than I remembered him a year ago. His eyes were very clear I think from being The long days in the open; From early sleep, perhaps from early rising, [43] The Drums in Our Street And then from seeing That young recruit so near, The gay lad, Death, who marches with the men. "I m very glad you came," I said, and then Asked after the old crowd. "A score or more Are killed. Dick s in the aviation corps. And Roger s flying. Freckles had flat feet And Bud was under weight." It was a treat To hear the way he cussed out every one. " I haven t heard from Tom for everso. And Tuttle married that Miss Marsh, you know." And then he told me of their food, a jest About a sergeant and that he liked best [44] The Drums in Our Street Of all, the feeling that one was part, at last, After one s puny life, of something vast. But when the hour was up, we said good-by And shook hands, friendlywise, and then he stooped And kissed me once, as very hungry men Can seize at food, and then he crushed his small Cap in his hands, and, head down, blind, pellmell Groped for the open door and somehow went. Now Spring is here, and streams and leaf- buds swell ... I never knew before what April meant. [451 THE DEAD SON In an old country, Far and far away, A woman went a-weeping On a fresh Spring day. A woman went a-weeping, For she heard birds singing, And under the hill There was new grass springing, "He loved the new grass, And all the birds," she said; "He loved the sparrows, And threw them bread." [46] The Drums in Our Street (Spring in the bush and tree, In her heart pain), She wept for her young lad By bloody hands slain. She wept for her son Who had harmed no man, Who must die for the dark world, Fulfilling an old plan. She was but a woman, And what could she know Of God s wise weavings ? "That he should have to go ! "My lad, whom I needed, Whom I love, night and day!" She said. And the birds sang And all the world was gay. [47] The Drums in Our Street To know that he waited In God s own town Was little comfort to her. Slowly down The road to the village, With her sobs to smother, All on a Spring day Went Mary, His mother. ***** Now o er a dark world War holds sway, And there is sound of sobbing, This fresh Spring day. To all weeping mothers She bends low; She stretches out her hands to them, And says, "I know." [48] SOUNDS When Ypres burned, I watched the cloud That glowed above, and hung, Pierced from the flaming towns below By hungry tongue. There must have been I have forgot The booming sound of war I never knew a nightingale Could sing so clear before. [491 "HIGHLANDERS, FIX BAYONETS" His mother never liked that record played. He liked it, Don, he always seemed to be Putting that record on, and listening As if there were some one whispering at his shoulder, Standing there, slyly whispering, in his ear While the record whirred and the song filled all the room. And after the sound ceased, he still would stand, The sunlight on his yellow hair, and dream As lads do; and then set the needle and Hear the whole record thunder through once more. It was a gallant-sounding thing, that one, [50] The Drums in Our Street And though I am an old man and should be Leaving such things to my grandchildren now, I liked the manly sound of it myself. "Listen, grandfather/ he would say, his voice Was changing that last summer. We would wait. A whirring sound came first; and then the sharp Command rang out, in a clear, rousing tone Startling, as if upon a battlefield A harsh commander gave his men the word. "Highlanders, fix bayonets!" And then a hush, And after that the song: The Drums in Our Street A loud, full-throated, wondrous fighting- song, Line after line of hurrying words to put New fury into tired fighting-men. "Terror of death in that blinding run " Yes, but if there was blood, too, in the song, And lust of shedding it, why, that s what war is ; It can t be helped. I always told her that. "Look to the shields of the conquering foe, Crouching again for another blow ! But see the rush of a hundred clans ! Fight as you did at Preston Pans Highlanders, fix bayonets ! " I could see The thrill go running through Don at the words. He always seemed to like that record played. The Drums in Our Street She didn t, though, but womenfolk are queer. She shuddered when the thirsty words sprang out. She seemed to see the battlefield, the men Running to thrust their bayonets through the bodies Of other laughing, swaying, shouting men, She told me. They ve too much imagination, Women. She d watch that bright-haired laddie stand, A sort of premonition in her eyes, A fear, the kind of fear that Mary might Have had, once, watching the young Christ at play. They are a strange race, mothers, so unlike The rest of all us common folks that we Can only stand aside and wonder at them. [531 The Drums in Our Street She used to ask the boy for other songs Half guessing at the names, not really caring What record was put on, if only that one Would be forgotten for a little while. If she were ever in the other room And heard the strident bars of it beginning, That curious look would come into her face; Her hands would fumble at the kitchen work; And, if she had been speaking to a neigh bor, Her words would slacken and repeat them selves, Until the record stopped, and she was freed. And when the stern command rang out, each time [541 The Drums in Our Street She cringed, as if some general had spoken Aloud there in her well-kept house, and brought His war into her quiet, sunny kitchen. But when war really broke, and he came asking, With all his bright youth burning in his eyes To a flame that made her own eyes blind to see, Proud through her frightened tears, she was the first Of all the stricken mothers in our town To say, "Yes, go, my boy, and God go too, And keep you brave and trusty at your post, [551 The Drums in Our Street And keep you safe for me to hold again When we have done our duty, and have brought Peace back to this poor world." And till he went She never faltered, but her head was high, Her hands were busy for him. When he said "Good-by" the last day, at our little station, She laughed out as she kissed him, smiling still Until his train was hidden by the bend. She kept her courage through the heavy months ; And when no letters came, she was the one To find new reasons for each fresh delay. [56] The Drums in Our Street She kept her courage when the message came, The wire from Washington, that he was killed. And when we saw his full name in the long Pitiful roll of honor of the dead, I mind his name came halfway down the list, It was between a Shehan and a Shultz, With "Killed in Action" written over all, "He did his duty to the end," she said, "There is no prouder death than this of his ; He died to make the countries all more safe For women and children, like the lad he was, Thoughtful of others weaker than himself." [571 The Drums in Our Street And that was all she said, but afterward, With frightened sobbing catching at her breath, She broke the shining record into bits. And I have never heard it played again. But sometimes, when we ve music of an evening I vaguely wish, among the softer strains Of this one s waltz, or that one s minuet That I could hear once more the thundering swell, The strong, harsh, sudden vigor of that song. There was something in its swing to stir men s blood. I liked the manly sound of it myself. "LET S PRETEND" I name my brothers in a prayer, Who are upon the sea, Lynn with brown and tumbled hair Lloyd and Deak, the three. O the days we whittled boats And sailed them on the sea ! The sea was running past our door, A mountain brook and clear, And little bays we scooped and shaped To keep our fleets from fear. Each bay we named; each ship we named, And launched it with a cheer. O little whittled boats that went So slowly round the bend ! [591 The Drums in Our Street O happy days of make-believe ! When will this anguish end ? Tears in my eyes? I am not now So good at "Let s Pretend." [60] FOR A YOUNG SOLDIER He laughed and died; And something died to me In greening countryside, In grass and bud and tree. Color died from the world, And all the sky was dim; And something in each soul I meet, died, too, with him. [61] IN A MIRROR My eyes are very blue tonight And very big with questioning; For love has come to me, that bright And unapproachable strange thing That touches unsuspecting men And heedless maids : and not again Shall the old childish laughter go Leaping from mouth to eyes and sit There like a child that mischievous Climbs triumphing to a perch and will Not be dislodged, though hard one tries, No laughter now is in my eyes. My mouth has other things to know 162] The Drums in Our Street Than childish games, and secret places Where the first, long, wood violets grow. My face is like all women s faces Not like a girl s face any more : There are more shadows in it, and It is soft, vague, like a new land With rain mists over, the outline Not sharp, as if the day were fine. To other maids, in other days Love came not in so strange a guise, So sudden and so perilous ; For in the moment that we know The harbor of each other s eyes War calls, and you must go, must go : And after, I know well, strange new Fears, wishes, hopes will hurry through My thinking while I wait for you. I had not dreamed it would be so The Drums in Our Street That love would come, but still, today, Like one who hardly understands, I welcome, in the same warm way, This love, that holds death in its hands. My eyes are very blue tonight And very big with questioning; For love has come to me, that bright And unapproachable strange thing. [64] PURGED BY WAR We have put by our littleness : Envy and malice form no more The greater part of all that mass That our hearts have in store. The spiteful whisperings fall and cease; Our petty quarrels are dropped and lost, We have put by our littleness, But oh, at what a cost ! [65] ON A TROOP TRAIN In through the train window comes the scent of sagebrush; And I remember riding out with you Sagebrush, sagebrush, violet and purple, Gray under noon sun, and silver under dew. Riding out together down the gold arroyo, Riding to the rim-rock, climbing up a trail, Riding when the sunset is pricking out the river ; Far from ranch or bunk-house, or any friendly hail. [66] The Drums in Our Street Have you forgotten all our rides together, Creaking leather, clinking spurs, range sky blue, Startled rabbits flashing across the trail before us Would sudden scent of sagebrush mean anything to you? THE GREAT WAR Youth, crucified to save the world, Hangs on the cross, and to the sky Utters, while thunderbolts are hurled, A fearful cry. Who has betrayed him ? Each one asks, Low, "Is it I?" [68] FIRE OF THE SUN Passionate children of the sun You are one and I am one. A piece of his fire burns still in you; And in me, too. Lower your lids and veil your eyes. Let us pretend that we are wise, That we are very wise, and that you Can smother that fire, and that I can, too. Let us forget that we are young, And have wanting in us. Let us go Walking cautiously and slow All these folk among. [69] The Drums in Our Street (Fire of the sun, smother, smoulder!) Let us pretend that we are older; And that we are calm, and do not know. (Fire of the sun, burn low !) Let us laugh and let us sing, That will be a pleasant thing. Let us look at life, and weigh, And scrutinize it well, and say, "We think we will not buy today." ***** But war, war, war ! Let us flame now before It quenches us. Let us flame high Ere it is on us ; you and I ! 701 IF HE CAME NOW If he came now ! My heart would be like a once quiet street, Hung with gay lanterns on a fete night, wild With singing ! And my heart would be a child Sleepily waking to a kiss, then, flinging Sleep from it, springing With all too ready feet, Out of the night, into the world again And finding that its toys were all once more There where it left them, waiting on the floor To be played with again. My heart would be An opened book filled full with witchery, The Drums in Our Street Filled, too, with pain, An opened book that had been left too long Upon a dusty shelf. It would be a song In a young mouth. And it would be buds, too, Opening under the moon, and shivering at the dew, But liking it. And it would be a flame, Red in the night. I used to be glad when he came, But not so very glad because I thought That I would always have him. . . . Then war caught Him from me suddenly, and bore him out To be where danger is ; and killed my doubt, My hesitation and half fears. Ah, how I would run to welcome him, if he came now! 721 THE CHINQUAPIN TRAIL Thimbleberry, salmonberry, mountain ash and chinquapin, Hard-hack, black cap, elderberry blue, Blackberry, huckleberry, rhododendron, sword fern, Wooly manzanita To be riding through The heavy brush about the trail, at dusk once more ! When all the gold is spilling on the sky s wide floor ! Indian plum and squaw grass, paint brush and mountain balm, Dwarf maple, buck brush, once so com monplace ! Spiraea and syringa, chaparral and hazel, [73] The Drums in Our Street Maple leaves that tremble, and the great black trace Of a fir across the sky, and, quick as fear Drops the dark upon the trail. ..." And now Pm here Far from whisk of chipmunk or rush of furry gray-squirrel, Chinquapin and squaw grass are a half a world away ! The sun goes down on No Man s Land, and dusk is on the trenches, And there s never a cow pony, at the end of day, To go with down the canon, with the mountain shrubs around me. But some day I ll go back and ride, and greet them all : Chinquapin and squaw grass and grape and chaparral ! [741 ON AN OLD BATTLEFIELD Two foes who slew Each other, lay In slow decay; From them there grew This poppy which I pluck today. Here where I keep a rendezvous With you The hatred of two men Leads round to love again. All hate To love leads, soon or late. 1751 THE RECRUITING STATION AT THE NEW YORK PUBLIC LIBRARY The two white lions of the library Who guard by night and day the doors that lead Into the house where beauty waits our need; Who guard and know not to what end, for whom All the world s wisdom in a narrow room The two white lions of the library Lookout and wonder at the thing they see; They who have known but students, shabby, lone; They who have known But poets, eager, tense, with a rapt air The Drums in Our Street Looking beyond the gray crowds, and the white Great doors, to a far perfect goal somewhere ; Women, alight With thanks, for the holiday from little cares That in this house is theirs : And old, calm men, who find no better thing In life, than a dead book s companioning When all else fails ; And children, coming to read fairy-tales; And all the weary ones who wish to spend A piece of life for dreams. ... It is at an end, That tranquil time. And now, all the strange day, From those high pedestals where they must stay, The two white lions of the library Look out in wonder at the thing they see. [77] THE GENEROUS GIVER We two and marriage how absurd it seems ! Like giving a child a rare and costly vase To keep among its other toys. We two ! Marriage seemed something made for grave, wise folk; Not for us happy wild things, wilful, gay, And always on a wondrous holiday. We called upon a friend one day last week ; She was engaged, and showed us all her linen ; Smooth household things, that made us slyly look With deprecating humor at each other. [78] The Drums in Our Street We two and tablecloths ! They re not for us ; We are so far from tablecloths ! What have We two to do with tablecloths, and with Guest towels of florid, bulging, fat initials ? She and her man are serious-minded folk. But we are like two children playing house Who fill material needs with make-believe. There are too many magic things in life To give oneself, a voluntary slave To serve a house, a table and a chair. Houses are made to use, to flout and leave When the road calls and sunsets are abroad, When the sea calls, and rain is in the wind. Our marriage is a taking hands and running Into the sunrise not a being ruled By a kind house with disapproving shutters. [79] The Drums in Our Street But even so, how strange to think of being Always together, with no wagging tongues ; But with the world permitting us to kiss ! This mythical and dread and sacred room Called marriage, where these grown-ups enter in, Today they let us, unreproved, explore, Two laughing children, curious, wondering. Though all our work was toward it, all our dreams, We two and marriage how unreal it seems ! To war, who, ere its time, has given youth Gifts, generously, prematurely kind, Not ordering impatient youth to wait Who, with those bloody hands that deal out death, Deals love as well, we give our happy thanks. [8ol THE GAY LAD DEATH The gay lad Death Takes stride for stride With the marching men He walks beside. As their shoulders touch, In the bitter weather Death and our own lads March together. The gay lad Death He sings to the men; And each man s thoughts Turn back again To his own small house, To his own far town; [8i] The Drums in Our Street To the girl he loves In her Sunday gown. The words they said That hurt us sore In the years of peace, They are sorry for. The gay lad sings. He sang on the day, (O the memories !) When they went away. It was he when they left, (O the marching feet !) Who put in their kiss So much of sweet. The gay lad Death Is very kind : [82] The Drums in Our Street He makes pictures In their mind On the elm by the porch And the rug by the chair, Of the shine of the lamplight In our hair. The gay lad Death, Of this, of this, He makes his song, And of that last kiss. We women have much To thank him for. He sings to the men As they march to war [83] The Drums in Our Street With a lad s voice sweet And tremulous. It is he who makes them Think of us. RICHARD LOVELACE AND RICHARD SMITH Lucasta, on the day when he left you, to go to the wars, Your sweetheart, Richard Lovelace, Did your heart beat chokingly, when he whispered those words to you ? Were the quick tears tangling your lashes, And blinding your terror-stricken eyes, when he said, " Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind That from the nunnery Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind, To war and arms I fly. " True, a new mistress now I chase, The first foe in the field ; [85] The Drums in Our Street And with a stronger faith embrace A sword, a horse, a shield. " Yet this inconstancy is such As you too shall adore ; I could not love thee, Dear, so much, Loved I not Honor more." Yesterday, when Dick Smith, who grew up next door to me, went to the front, He did not bend down from a jeweled saddle To take the last kiss; He leaned out from a window in the day coach, Crowding past pushing heads and khaki shoulders, And kissed me, And, over the noise of frantic farewells trampling each other, he shouted : [86] The Drums in Our Street "So long, kiddie! Be good to yourself! I won t come back Till we ve hanged the kaiser To one of his own linden trees !" He didn t say it as poetically as your Richard did, But he meant exactly the same thing. [87] A GIRLS WAR SEWING CLASS My three brothers have taken train To make the mad world safe again. My three brothers have kissed our mother (A son is more to lose than a brother) And given their sweethearts one bright glance And gone to France, and gone to France; And with them one who, I knew well, Loved me, but was too shy to tell. Now there is war like a shroud of black Over the world. And Spring comes back, [88] The Drums in Our Street And makes our hearts beat uselessly, Mine and theirs who sew with me. What use now to be young and fair And new grass under the plum trees there? What use now our round breasts swelling ? There are no love words for telling, Only words for speaking of battles. A gust comes swift and the window rattles And each girl starts, as she heard the sound Of a bullet pushing a man to the ground. What use now at dusk to be waiting ? There are no youths for our mating. What use crocuses in the meadow ? We walk under the shroud s black shadow. [89] The Drums in Our Street In our street the spring wind blowing, Hurt at our silence, all unknowing, Wonders why we do not answer. April sways to us, the dancer, Never guessing why no more We listen for her foot on the floor. Where girls voices used to mingle In a light and merry jingle With a youth s hoarse grumbling tone, In our town one hears alone, All its length from street to street, Only women s voices sweet. What use now to be wild and eager? Pain is common, cheer is meager; [90] The Drums in Our Street Heartbreak is no luxury, Rich and poor its look may see. What use now for Spring to come peering In our window, calling, jeering ? We sit and sew, in a girl s soft din, Things for our loves to lie wounded in. We cut and shape and sew and baste Smiling, with no courage to waste, And over the hills new grass comes fine As a baby s hair in the soft sunshine. On a bough by the window buds grow fat, It breaks our hearts to look at that. The window wears a long black shawl, But we have never had love at all. [91] The Drums in Our Street There is woe in the eyes of the soldier s bride, But she had a man to lie beside For five sweet nights, and she has a ring And a shaken kiss for remembering. But we at the threshold cannot see, We only wonder what Life may be, / We who have not yet known the way Love and April burn and sway And lift their victims then once more Into life we have no store Of memories to torture and Heal with the same careless hand. Only little memories of The awkward overtures of love, [92] The Drums in Our Street The first strange word, and wistful glance That make a girl s heart cower and dance. Now, we must forget until The war is done and the world is still. It is we who keep the ceaseless round ; For Life is a clock that must be wound. We could bear each heavy thing, If there were no Spring, no Spring ! We could ply our needle and thread Calmly, if each bird were dead, But Spring s cruelty heaps the measure, And we must watch the young sun s pleas ure In the hungry earth. I think Violets are on the brink 193] The Drums in Our Street Of the churchyard hill. I see One red flower on an apple tree. And the wind comes shyly, sweet Home, still laughing, to our street. While we sit and sew, through chatter and din, Things for our loves to be dying in. [94] TENEMENT WINDOWS The hawker brings geraniums, And stands beneath the windows; High up in the tenements they hear his cry, "Geraniums, geraniums! Red and white geraniums ! Pink and fresh geraniums!" They straggle down to buy. The hawker brings geraniums : He pulls his cart up closer; The windows in the dull slum street are crowded, black. "Geraniums, geraniums! Red and white geraniums ! The hawker brings geraniums," And spring s come back. [95] The Drums in Our Street The hawker brings geraniums. He s brought them many Aprils, But never have they blossomed where such strange companions are : Geraniums, geraniums, They ll grace the unwashed windows Beside a dingy service flag that has a dusty star! [96] THE WAR BULLETIN Not ink, but blood so they, The bulletins, are made each word, each line, Each letter in the lists . One sudden day Last week, of which I do not like to think, It was your heart s blood made the ink. Today God keep me silent it was mine. 97] THE BIRDS BETWEEN THE TRENCHES The birds between the trenches Look down on de ath and sing As blithely as they might have done In western fields in Spring. They lavish all their treasure, Nor save a single tune. They know the ears that hear them Will hear no bird notes soon [98] A CALIFORNIAN IN FRANCE Here in the trench s damp and cold, I think of my own land s blue and gold. Blue, blue, April blue A drift of white, and a rift of blue, A dream of white, and a gleam of blue, Blue, blue, blue! Gold, gold, poppies gold, A flare of gold, and a glare of gold, A hint of green, and a glint of gold, Gold, gold, gold! When this war is over, then Poppies I shall tread again. [991 The Drums in Our Street See in the old careless way Blue of sky and blue of bay. Only Death s threat ning hand can open eyes To beauty in familiar hills and skies. [ioo] A SONG OF SEVERAL YOUNG MEN "I m having the time of my life," He writes, "Don t worry for me." For it took danger and strife To make him free. H War gave him the freedom and friends That poverty cheated him of. Shells, do not drop near his post! Bullets, fly safely above ! There s a long line of men for your prey; There are men who have lived more, to hit. He has found his youth now. Shrapnel, guns, Let him enjoy it a bit. Hoi] RED SUNDAY IN THE RUSSIAN REVOLUTION Between the singing multitudes The crimson coffins slowly sway, As through strange streets the newly slain Take their triumphant way. These scarce-cold hands beneath the red Of protest and of passion, now Have been fulfilling many a dead Man s century-old vow. And while the singing thousands throng And watch the mighty dead go by, Beneath the pall the silent mouths Join in the joyous cry. [102] The Drums in Our Street When heroes are borne past our eyes Who reached and righted twisted years, In this their righteous victory How is there time for tears ? The crimson coffins proud go by With songs on either hand. With this red coin a people buy New life for an old land. 103] MY CHUM I m not his sweetheart, God, I m just his chum, We hadn t got as far as loving yet. We re both so young. If fighting had not come So soon. But then it did, and now he s there In France. And I m here making you this prayer To put with those his mother s sending you. (Perhaps she wouldn t like it if she knew.) Guard him, and, God, don t let him quite forget. His mother wouldn t like it if she knew, Or mine, if she should ever chance to guess [ 104] The Drums in Our Street I m speaking of him every night to you. They d say we re quite too young to understand. But that day, when he went, he took my hand And while they talked, he asked me with his eyes. I answered too. Perhaps it wasn t wise. And something made the handshake a caress. And still I wear my hair down in a braid And study Algebra. His letters come; I open each half hoping, half afraid; But there is never any reason why The rest mayn t have them just as soon as I. Still, though the family reads them, never seeing [105] The Drums in Our Street Between the lines, I know! and can t help being Proud, proud ! God, keep him safe today My Chum. [106] THE LITTLE TRAIL TO DEATH There s a trail up the mountain, there s a trail to the lake; There s a trail to the deep woods I long today to take Where the wind goes, and the ferns stand, and the pine needles red Make a low, soft pillow for a man s tired head. There s a trail up the hillside, there s a trail to the glade, Where the trout swim slow in the calm, cool shade Of the still pool. And the trees hide, in their sea-swaying boughs, [107] The Drums in Our Street A bird s hope, and a bird s fears, and a bird s brown house. There s a trail to the lakeside, there s a trail to the hill . Where the moss holds the footprints, and the high ferns are still, Where the beech stands, and the pine towers, and the water maples take The color from the sunset, and where alders shake. There s a trail to the seaside, there s a trail to the hill There are trails to the world s end I long to follow still. But here as in a trench I watch; before new dawns shall break, It may be it s the little trail to death that I will take. [108] WOUNDED RED CROSS NURSE Little white body of mine, so broken, Little white body that tried to be brave, Lying, without any thought or emotion, On a long bed like a grave, On a long hospital cot in the stillness; Supple soft body, all bandaged and strange, How you have run in the sun on the hillside, Raced on the range ! How you have danced with the leaves in the forest, Where with the other swift nymphs you belong ! [109] The Drums in Our Street Joyous, wild body, I mourn for your still ness You that were song, When out of the swathings, grotesque and uncomely, I smile as the men I have nursed so long, do, As my drowsy eyes gaze down the mounds and the hillocks And the folds in the sheets that are you. I am too weak now to fear or be grieving; That will come later, and tears for you then, Little white body, who cannot believe yet You will never be dancing again. [no] PART II THE DRUMS IN OUR SQUARE THE DRUMS IN OUR SQUARE High dreams fill all the dusk-hung air, We all are dreamers in our Square : We put a word upon a word, Like children s blocks to make a tower, To make a tower where we may stand And snatch at heaven with our hand; Or we put color carelessly On color, and their hearts are stirred, These careless others , for an hour. We all are dreamers in our Square; There is no sound but laughter there. We win to gladness, win to mirth, We are the glad ones of the earth, Because the thing we dream, we do; The Drums in Our Street All men dream dreams, our dreams are true : For the work we love our hands are free. We, too, create, and are deity. But what is this sound today that comes ? Here in our Square the Drums, the Drums ? t4l LAST NIGHT Last night they all were in our studio Drinking a little from the common cup Of hope, Bob said, he writes that kind of verse, The kind that s made of words, the other kind Is made of feelings, with words put up like screens To hide them but to let us know they re there. They drank a toast to you and me, and to Our happiness. They drank it standing, and The Drums in Our Street You made a speech, pride shining from your eyes And joy, because you d made me care for you. And I sat by, and laughed, and was happy too. "She s like a kitten, little and comforting, Contented playing with a spool and string," Said Bobby, "she s the happiest thing, I ll swear, In all New York!" Bill said, "Or any where." It was so true of me, I couldn t speak. They laughed to see the red come in my cheek. [116] The Drums in Our Street And then the talk went drifting out among The floating flotsam-jetsam of the Square; Who d fallen in love with whom, and who d been where; And Torwald s picture that had just been hurfg, And what the publishers had wanted for Jem s book, and then they talked about the war. Last night they all were in our studio And talked about the war how could I know That ere another night, you d have to go! [1171 ENLISTED Two weeks with you two crazy weeks Of joy at being alive, and being Everything to each other, freeing Each other from the bonds that hold The spirit in from being bold And ranging heaven unafraid. For two wild, holy, reckless weeks We laughed together then war speaks. War speaks, and calls your name, and you Lift your head and are listening, Loose my arms from your neck that cling, And with all the ragged and reckless crew Of the artists and poets and dreamers we knew Down the long street you are marching you ! [118 The Drums in Our Street And I who have never learned to see Your coat and hat on the old hall tree, Your tangling ties on my dresser here, Your strange huge boots by my little shoes Without a shamed and proud confusion. I must see these now, and be stabbed anew By each thing that ever was worn by you. I must hear the hurdy gurdy s groan Outside of our window, and stand alone And listen to all the tunes you know Where I stood with you a week ago. And every night again I must face The others without you, chatting gay At the artists little eating-place. How can I live these long hours through ? Day after endless aching day? But oh, I am proud, am proud of you! THE BROKEN PROMISE You and I touched each other s hands And stood listening. Life promised us so much, Bent low and whispered, And promised us so much. Then war Put his large, stubby hand Over her mouth And drew her head back Before she had quite finished promising; War has forced her to her knees And her eyes have fear in them, But you and I do not think of her danger. We only grieve Because now she cannot give us Those wonderful things Of which she whispered in our ears. [120] A GREENWICH VILLAGE TEA ROOM The dingy basement restaurant Where the artists used to come The little smoky room Where the artists sat Blowing dreams from their cigarettes, Shaping them with their lips And watching them rise and die with equal languor The little smoky room That has known tragedies In many young men s eyes, Has seen births, And deaths [121] The Drums in Our Street The little smoky room Is empty now On a spring night, War sauntered into it Casually, And the young men linked their arms in his, And marched out through the door Singing, and laughing, and jesting with their new comrade. [122] AT THE GRAND CENTRAL STATION I smiled as I said good-by you knew As you watched my face, it was hard to do. You helped me laugh, you helped me jest, Till the big clock called, and you went with the rest. Then I turned away, and jostled the others, Sisters of soldiers, sweethearts, mothers, Fathers of sailors, friends they d known. And I walked home, alone, alone. And the station was empty, and all the street. [123] The Drums in Our Street And I passed the place where we used to meet. And the town was empty, and full of gloom ; And the Square was empty and oh, our room! 124] "ANYTHING YOU WANT" " Anything you want" those were his words, "Buy anything you want, dear" and that look, The look of some one s father, in his eyes, The look of giving playthings to a child I cannot quite forget his words, his look. "Buy anything you want" his train was gone And I left standing by the station door, Alone with the five dollars in my hand. I, only, knew how hard he must have tried, To save that folded bill, from needful things, For me to buy a trinket with. He knew The Drums in Our Street So well, the way I loved a bit to spend For foolish things I never should have craved. "Buy anything you want" the train was gone. Those words the last he said to me on earth, So like him always "Anything you want." Today the notice came that he was dead, My husband-lover. Dead my own, my own. And ever since, the traffic in the street In all its magic rhythm seems to taunt And stab me, like a well-loved song repeat Those words. I walk alone, unheeded, home; And dusk comes gayly. "Anything you want" [126] A SOLDIER S WIFE I looked out through the window to the street The lights made silver and the rain made black, To see at last if you were coming back. But there were only other people there, Not you, not you ! My eyes searched everywhere, But no one s shoulders had that reckless swing And no one s hat was tilted quite so much Too far. The dusk had laid its wistful touch Upon each tree within the little park. It is hard to be alone when it grows dark [127] The Drums in Our Street On the first, strange, wild days of any Spring. Spring is a pitiless season gay and sweet But very pitiless. I saw a pair Of lovers walking, speaking, unaware That some one at a window up above Was hating them because they were in love. And there were soldiers passing, proud to be Soldiers, and not unwilling we should see. A girl went rushing by, with something warm In her smiling, and with books beneath her arm, A group of small boys loitered past, and then In eager, confidential chat, two men ; Then some one disappointed and alone, Whose business hadn t gone the way it should. The Drums in Our Street The secrets shoulders tell ! when if we could We would silence them as firmly as we do Our mouths and eyes. How wary mine have grown ! Then came two shoppers, in their high tense jargon Each boasting to the other of a bargain ; Then others ; women, men, a child or two ; A poet with his hat off, striding out Against the world, his every step a shout; And people in the distance, who, I knew Were people, but who seemed like blurs of blue. I looked out, out, to where the lights and rain Were putting silver on the street, and black, To see at last if you were coming back Who never can come back to me again. K [129] The Drums in Our Street But as I stood alone, and watched for you With bitterness and pain before I knew, The bitterness and grieving all were gone. The Spring wind touched me. I looked down upon The little tragedies of shoulder, and Slow feet, tired head, and languid, listless hand ; The little comedies of bird-like, fleeting Quick glances, and of glad eyes boldly meeting. You fought that these young things today might sate Their thirst for Spring, might laugh, and weep and mate. That all might still go on like this, you died. To save their youth, your youth was cruci fied. [130] The Drums in Our Street Because of this you shall forever after Be one with love and youth and joy and laughter. Because of this you still in all that meet Shall smile and touch and speak within this street. Love in my eyes, I looked again, and knew In all who pass, there is a part of you. And now each night I lean out, out, and see Once more, my lover coming home to me. Printed in the United States of America. [131! E following pages contain advertisements of a few of the Macmillan books on kindred subjects MASEFIELD S POEMS AND PLAYS COLLECTED The Poems and Plays of John Masefield: Volume I, Poems; Volume II, Plays With Frontispiece Portrait of Author in Photogravure Cloth, izrno This is what many people have long been desiring a collected edition of the works of Masefield, including everything that the distinguished English author has published in the field of drama and verse. Here will be found The Everlasting Mercy and The Widmv in the Bye Street, The Daffodil Fields and other of the great contributions on which he gained his first popularity, as well as those shorter pieces which have heretofore been published only in limited editions. It is now possible for the Masefield admirer to possess his complete writings in the two fields in which he is supreme. The volumes have been carefully made, and, purely from the bookmaking standpoint, will be a worth-while addition to any library. THE MACMILLAN COMPANY Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue Mew York TAGORE ILLUSTRATED BY INDIAN ARTISTS Gitanjali and Fruit Gathering BY RABINDRANATH TAGORE Edition de Luxe. With 8 illustrations in color and 23 in black and white by Indian artists Decorated cloth, i2mo Here are presented two of Mr. Tagore s most popular books, Gitanjali, the religious poems for which he re ceived the Nobel prize in literature, and Fruit Gathering, its sequel. The combination of the two in one volume is very appropriate and the illustrations which have been prepared not only beautify, but give new signifi cance to many of the lines. No lover of Tagore will feel that his library is com plete without this attractive work. "Mr. Tagore s translations are of trance-like beauty." The London Athenaum. "These poems are representative of the highest de gree of culture, and yet instinct with the simplicity and directness of the dweller on the soil." New York Sun. ". . . it is the essence of all poetry of East and West alike the language of the soul." The Indian Mag- azine and, Review. THE MACMILLAN COMPANY Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue Hew York AMY LOWELL S NEW POEMS Can Grande s Castle BY AMY LOWELL Author of " Six French Poets," " A Dome of Many- Coloured Glass," " Sword Blades and Poppy Seed," etc. Cloth, ismo This book contains four strange and moving poems, in which history suddenly becomes again immediate reality. Miss Lowell s extraordinary vividness of pres entation is well known, and nowhere in her work is it more in evidence than in this volume. A series of pictures of remarkable power which range from Bourbon Italy to the Battle of Trafalgar, and from the Triumph of Titus to the Austrian air-raids on Venice in the present war; England, Byzantium, Japan, seen with a poet s vision, as backgrounds for the terrible drama of human life and passion. The poems are written in "polyphonic prose," a new poetic form which admits of great vigour and colour, and an infinite amount of music. The vol ume is a notable addition to contemporary literature. THE MACMILLAN COMPANY Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue Hew York THREE RECENT VOLUMES OF POETRY Toward the Gulf BY EDGAR LEE MASTERS Cloth, i2mo, $1.50 " The natural child of Walt Whitman . . . the only poet with true Americanism in his bones." JOHN COWPER POWYS in New York Times. "Toward the Gulf" is a series of fearlessly true and beautiful poems, revealing American life and character as few books have done. In the style of the " Spoon River Anthology," Mr. Masters once more analyzes grimly but truly the motive of human conduct, and skillfully portrays in verse form the life and thoughts and ambitions of average folk. Reincarnations BY JAMES STEPHENS Cloth, i2ino, $1.00 Mr. Stephens has here collected a series of poems in part trans lations, in part imitations or expansions of old Irish material chiefly after Raftery, O Rahilly and O Brunadair. " Some of the poems," he says, " owe no more than a phrase, a line, half a line to the Irish, and around these scraps I have blown a bubble of verse and made my poems." Lover s Gift and Crossing BY RABINDRANATH TAGORE Cloth, i2mo, $1.25 " Contains, we should say, perhaps the very best work so far of that very remarkable man. In both depth and breadth of vision, in copiousness of imagery, in knowledge of the human soul, and in sheer artistic beauty, these little word etchings are unsurpassed in current literature and have not often been rivalled in any literature or at any time." New York Tribune. THE MACMILLAN COMPANY Publishers 64-66 Fifth Aronue Hew York RETURN CIRCULATION DEPARTMENT TO ^ 202 Main Library LOAN PERIOD 1 HOME USE 2 3 4 5 6 ALL BOOKS MAY BE RECALLED AFTER 7 DAYS Renewals and Recharges may be made 4 days prior to the due date. Books may be Renewed by calling 642-3405. DUE AS STAMPED BELOW FEB151991 - JAN 23 W i UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, BERKELEY FORM NO. DD6 BERKELEY CA 94720 VRJ2I.6P U.C. BERKELEY LIBRARIES III 382793 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY