I have robbed my sister of her day of maidenhood (For a robe, for a feather, for a trinket's restless spark), Shut from love till dusk shall fall, how shall she know good, How shall she go scatheless through the sun-lit dark? I who could be innocent, I who could be gay, I who could have love and mirth before the light went by, I have put my sister in her mating-time away— Sister, my young sister, was it I? Was it I? I have robbed my sister of the lips against her breast, (For a coin, for the weaving of my children's lace and lawn), Feet that pace beside the loom, hands that cannot rest— How can she know motherhood, whose strength is gone? I who took no heed of her, starved and labor-worn, I, against whose placid heart my sleepy gold-heads lie, Round my path they cry to me, little souls unbornGod of Life! Creator! It was I! It was I! THE TWO DYINGS I can remember once, ere I was dead, The sorrow and the prayer and bitter cry They need not so have grieved their souls for me, With the kind drug of Death: How once upon a time, unwept, unknown, With none to watch or care. THE MODERN WOMAN TO HER LOVER I shall not lie to you any more, Flatter or fawn to attain my end— I shall be strong as a man is strong, Hand in locked hand we shall pass along I shall not drag at your bridle-rein, Knee pressed to knee we shall ride the hill; I shall not lie to you ever again— Will you love me still? Alan Seeger Alan Seeger was born in New York, June 22, 1888. When he was still a baby, his parents moved to Staten Island, where he remained through boyhood. Later, there were several other migrations, including a sojourn in Mexico, where Seeger spent the most impressionable years of his youth. In 1906, he entered Harvard; became one of the editors of the Harvard Monthly; returned to New York in 1910 and in 1913 set off for Paris"a departing point," wrote William Archer, "which may fairly be called his Hegira, the turning point of his history." 1914 came, and the European war had not entered its third week when, along with some forty of his fellow-countrymen, Seeger enlisted in the Foreign Legion of France. He was in action almost continually, serving on various fronts. On July 1, 1916, a new advance began; a few days later the Legion was ordered to clear the Germans out of the village of Belloy-enSanterre. On the fourth of July, Seeger advanced in the first rush and his squad was practically wiped out by hidden machine-gun fire. Seeger fell, mortally wounded, and died the next morning. Seeger's literary promise was far greater than his poetic accomplishment. With the exception of his one famous poem, there is little of importance though much of charm in his collected Poems (published, with an Introduction by William Archer, in 1916). His letters from the front (published in 1917) show a more powerful touch, a keener sense of perception. Had he lived a few years more, he might have been a valuable recorder of a changed and changing world. "I HAVE A RENDEZVOUS WITH DEATH I have a rendezvous with Death At some disputed barricade, When Spring comes back with rustling shade I have a rendezvous with Death When Spring brings back blue days and fair. 1 From Poems by Alan Seeger. Copyright, 1916, by Charles Scribner's Sons. By permission of the publishers. It may be he shall take my hand I have a rendezvous with Death God knows 'twere better to be deep Willard Wattles Willard (Austin) Wattles was born at Bayneville, Kansas, July 8, 1888. He received his A.B. at the University of Kansas in 1909 and, since 1910, has divided his time between teaching English and harvesting wheat. His first book was an anthology, Sunflowers: A Book of Kansas Poems (1914), to which he also contributed. Lanterns in Gethsemane (1918) consists, almost entirely, of mystical and religious poems. There is, however, little of the sermonizing unction and less cant in these fresh pages. There is an unusual vibrancy here; a warm buoyance that glows against its theological background. Many of Wattles's verses have the peculiar grace of a parable joined to a nursery rhyme; "The Builder," "Jericho " and a few others seem like scraps of the Scripture rendered by Mother Goose. THE BUILDER 1 Smoothing a cypress beam I saw a carpenter In a far land. Down past the flat roofs Poured the white sun; But still he bent his back, And I paused surprised In that queer place To find an old man With a haunting face. "Who art thou, carpenter, Of the bowed head; And what buildest thou?" "Heaven," he said. 1 Taken by permission from Lanterns in Gethsemane by Willard Wattles. Copyright, 1918, by E. P. Dutton & Co., New York. |