I, for whom all beauty burns
Like incense in a million urns?
O beauty, are you not enough?
Why am I crying after love?

I SHALL NOT CARE 1

When I am dead and over me bright April
Shakes out her rain-drenched hair,

Though you should lean above me broken-hearted,
I shall not care.

I shall have peace, as leafy trees are peaceful
When rain bends down the bough;

And I shall be more silent and cold-hearted
Than you are now.

THE LONG HILL 2

I must have passed the crest a while ago
And now I am going down-

Strange to have crossed the crest and not to know,
But the brambles were always catching the hem of

my gown.

1 Reprinted by permission of the publishers, The Macmillan Company, from Love Songs by Sara Teasdale.

2 Reprinted by permission of the publishers, The Macmillan Company, from Flame and Shadow by Sara Teasdale.

All the morning I thought how proud I should be

To stand there straight as a queen,

Wrapped in the wind and the sun with the world under

me

But the air was dull, there was little I could have seen.

It was nearly level along the beaten track

And the brambles caught in my gown

But it's no use now to think of turning back,
The rest of the way will be only going down.

WATER LILIES 1

If you have forgotten water-lilies floating

On a dark lake among mountains in the afternoon shade,

If you have forgotten their wet, sleepy fragrance,
Then you can return and not be afraid.

But if you remember, then turn away forever

To the plains and the prairies where pools are far

apart,

There you will not come at dusk on closing water lilies, And the shadow of mountains will not fall on your

heart.

1 Reprinted by permission of the publishers, The Macmillan Company, from Flame and Shadow by Sara Teasdale.

TIRED

If I shall make no poems any more,

There will be rest, at least, so let it be,
Time to look up at golden stars and listen

To the long mellow thunder of the sea.
The year will turn for me, I shall delight in
All animals, and some of my own kind;
Sharing with no one but myself the frosty
And half ironic musings of my mind.

Gladys Cromwell

Gladys Cromwell was born November 28, 1885, in New York City. She was educated in New York private schools and lived abroad a great deal. "Her life," writes Anne Dunn, was little indented by outer events, being wholly of the mind and spirit." She was most at home in the world within herself, sensitive and-to the final, tragic degree-selfeffacing.

In January, 1918, Gladys and Dorothea, her twin-sister, enrolled in the Canteen Service of the Red Cross, sailed for France and were stationed at Châlons. Both girls worked unremittingly for eight months. It was only at the end of their desperate labors that they gave way to hopelessness, believing their efforts futile and the whole world desolate. Signs of a mental breakdown show in their diaries as early as October. "After the armistice," writes Anne Dunn in her biographical note which serves as an appreciative epilogue to Gladys Cromwell's Poems, "they showed symptoms of nervous prostration; but years of self-control and consideration for others made them conceal the black horror in which they lived,

the agony through which they saw a world which, they felt, contained no refuge for beauty or quiet thought. And when, on their way home, they jumped from the deck of the Lorraine it was in response to a vision that promised them fulfilment and peace." After their death, which occurred January 19, 1919, the French Government awarded the two sisters the Croix de Guerre.

Gates of Utterance (1915) has something more than the usual promise." But the best of Miss Cromwell's work can be found in her posthumously published Poems (1919), which, in 1920, received the yearly prize offered by the Poetry Society of America, dividing the honor with Neihardt's The Song of Three Friends. Her most significant poems betray that attitude to life which was at the heart of her tragedy—a preoccupation that was a mixture of fascination and fear. Her lines, never mediocre, are introspective and fraught with serious concernthe work of a frailer and unsmiling Emily Dickinson. Several of the best of her delicate songs, like the two lyrics quoted, tremble on the verge of greatness.

THE CROWNING GIFT 1

I have had courage to accuse;
And a fine wit that could upbraid;
And a nice cunning that could bruise;
And a shrewd wisdom, unafraid
Of what weak mortals fear to lose.

I have had virtue to despise
The sophistry of pious fools;
I have had firmness to chastise;

And intellect to make me rules
To estimate and exorcise.

1 Reprinted by permission of the publishers, The Macmillan Company, from Poems by Gladys Cromwell.

I have had knowledge to be true;
My faith could obstacles remove;
But now my frailty I endue.
I would have courage now to love,
And lay aside the strength I knew.

THE MOULD 1

No doubt this active will,
So bravely steeped in sun,
This will has vanquished Death
And foiled oblivion.

But this indifferent clay,
This fine, experienced hand
So quiet, and these thoughts
That all unfinished stand,

Feel death as though it were

A shadowy caress;

And win and wear a frail
Archaic wistfulness.

Ezra Pound

Ezra (Loomis) Pound was born at Hailey, Idaho, October 30, 1885; attended Hamilton College and the University of Pennsylvania; and went abroad, seeking fresh material to complete a thesis on Lope de Vega, in 1908. After visiting Spain on a roundabout journey to England, where he took up his resi

1 Reprinted by permission of the publishers, The Macmillan Company, from Poems by Gladys Cromwell.