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And he was always quietly arrayed,

And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,

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Good-morning," and he glittered when he walked.

And he was rich-yes, richer than a king,
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine, we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.

So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without the meat, and cursed the
bread;

And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head.

VAIN GRATUITIES

Never was there a man much uglier

In the eyes of other women, or more grim:

"The Lord has filled her chalice to the brim,

So let us pray she's a philosopher,"

They said; and there was more they said of her—
Deeming it, after twenty years with him,

No wonder that she kept her figure slim
And always made you think of lavender.

But she, demure as ever, and as fair,
Almost, as they remembered her before

She found him, would have laughed had she been there;

And all they said would have been heard no more

Than foam that washes on an island shore
Where there are none to listen or to care.

1

THE DARK HILLS

Dark hills at evening in the west,
Where sunset hovers like a sound
Of golden horns that sang to rest
Old bones of warriors under ground,
Far now from all the bannered ways
Where flash the legions of the sun,
You fade as if the last of days

Were fading, and all wars were done.

Edgar Lee Masters

Edgar Lee Masters was born at Garnett, Kansas, August 23, 1869, of old Puritan and pioneering stock. When he was still a boy, the family moved to Illinois, where, after desultory schooling, he studied law in his father's office at Lewiston. For a year he practised with his father and then went to Chicago, where he became a successful and prominent attorney.

Before going to Chicago, Masters had composed a great quantity of verse in traditional forms on still more traditional themes; by the time he was twenty-four he had written about four hundred poems, revealing the result of wide reading and betraying the influence of Poe, Keats, Shelley and Swinburne. His work, previous to the publication of Spoon River Anthology, was derivative and undistinguished. In 1895 he wrote a blank verse play on Benedict Arnold. In 1898 he published A Book of Verses, a selection of some sixty of the early four hundred.

In 1902 Maximilian, another blank verse play, appeared, causing no more comment than the others. Nothing daunted, Masters published several volumes in rapid succession (three books of poetry appearing, under various pseudonyms, between 1905 and 1912), The New Star Chamber and Other Essays (1904), Blood of the Prophets (1905), Althea, a play (1907), The Trifler, another play (1908).

In 1914, Masters, at the suggestion of his friend William Marion Reedy, turned from his preoccupation with classic subjects and began to draw upon the life he knew for those concise records which have made him famous. Taking as his model The Greek Anthology, which Reedy had pressed upon him, Masters evolved Spoon River Anthology, that astonishing assemblage of over two hundred self-inscribed epitaphs, in which the dead of a middle Western town are supposed to have written the truth about themselves. Through these frank revelations, many of them interrelated, the village is recreated for us; it lives again, unvarnished and typical, with all its intrigues, hypocrisies, feuds, martyrdoms and occasional exaltations. The crippling monotony of existence in a drab township, the defeat of ideals, the struggle toward higher goals -all is synthesized in these crowded pages. All moods and all manner of voices are heard here-even Masters's, who explains the reason for his medium and the selection of his form through "Petit, the Poet."

The success of the volume was stupendous. (See Preface.) With every new attack (and its frankness continued to make fresh enemies) its readers increased; it was imitated, parodied, reviled as “a piece of yellow journalism; " hailed as "an American Comédie Humaine." Finally, after the storm of controversy, it has taken its place as a landmark in American literature.

With Spoon River Anthology Masters arrived-and left. He went back to his first rhetorical style, resurrecting many of his earlier trifles, reprinting dull echoes of Tennyson, imitations of Shelley, archaic paraphrases in the manner of Swinburne.

Yet, though none of Masters's subsequent volumes can be compared to his masterpiece, all of them contain examples of the same straightforwardness, the stubborn searching for truth that intensified his best-known characterizations.

Songs and Satires (1916) contains the startling "All Life in a Life" and the gravely moving "Silence." The Great Valley (1916) is packed with echoes and a growing dependence on Browning. In Toward the Gulf (1918), the Browning influence predominates, although there are such splendid individual monologues as "The World Saver," "St. Deseret" and "Front the Ages with a Smile." Starved Rock (1919) and Domesday Book (1920) are, like all Masters's later books, queerly assembled mixtures of good, bad and derivative verse. And yet, for all of this poet's borrowings, in spite of his cynicism and disillusion, Masters's work is a continual searching for some key to the mystery of truth, the mastery of life.

PETIT, THE POET1

Seeds in a dry pod, tick, tick, tick,

Tick, tick, tick, like mites in a quarrel—
Faint iambics that the full breeze wakens—
But the pine tree makes a symphony thereof.
Triolets, villanelles, rondels, rondeaus,

Ballades by the score with the same old thought:
The snows and the roses of yesterday are vanished;
And what is love but a rose that fades?

Life all around me here in the village:
Tragedy, comedy, valor and truth,
Courage, constancy, heroism, failure-

All in the loom, and oh what patterns!

1 Reprinted by permission of the publishers, The Macmillan Company, from Spoon River Anthology by Edgar Lee Masters.

Woodlands, meadows, streams and rivers-
Blind to all of it all my life long.
Triolets, villanelles, rondels, rondeaus,

Seeds in a dry pod, tick, tick, tick,

Tick, tick, tick, what little iambics,

While Homer and Whitman roared in the pines!

LUCINDA MATLOCK 1

I went to the dances at Chandlerville,

And played snap-out at Winchester.
One time we changed partners,

Driving home in the moonlight of middle June,

And then I found Davis.

We were married and lived together for seventy years, Enjoying, working, raising the twelve children,

Eight of whom we lost

Ere I had reached the age of sixty.

I spun, I wove, I kept the house, I nursed the sick,

I made the garden, and for holiday

Rambled over the fields where sang the larks,

And by Spoon River gathering many a shell,

And many a flower and medicinal weed

Shouting to the wooded hills, singing to the green valleys. At ninety-six I had lived enough, that is all,

And passed to a sweet repose.

What is this I hear of sorrow and weariness,

1 Reprinted by permission of the publishers, The Macmillan Company, from Spoon River Anthology by Edgar Lee Masters.

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