Puslapio vaizdai


Why, you read it as excitingly as Lindsay would himself," Psyche complimented Jason.

“Oh, no; I'm sure I don't quite get the swing of the head nor the precise courtesy of the fingers embracing, which Mr. Lindsay gets into his reading. It's unique, no one else can do it."

"From 'Harry Graham Adds to His Misrepresentative Men a Picture of J. M. Barrie,' I want to quote two lines, which might, after all, very well be taken as the essence of the subtle art in these parodies," I said, quoting:

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Who burlesques when he most reveres;
And winks an eye- to hide his tears."

"I confess that the book offers many temptations to quote," said Jason. "The parody on Ezra Pound is stunning; it is as good poetry as that antic mind ever made in his most strained and serious effort; and Mr. Untermeyer sings with 'winks in an eye.' . . . Oh, I simply can't refrain," Jason broke out, "I must read this parody on Franklin P. Adams, who adds to the gayety of libations by adapting the eleventh ode of the Fourth Book of Horace - 1916 Model!"" and before any of us could speak, Jason was off on the lilt of this motley elegance:

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"See, Phyllis, I've a jar of Alban wine,

Made of the choicest grapes that one can gather. Vintage? Well, yes - its years are more than nine. Inviting?... Rather.


"And that's not all our well-known festive cheer

There's ivy in the yard, and heaps of parsley. Come, twine some in your hair and say, old dear,

Don't do it sparsely.

"The flat's all ready for the sacrifice;

In every corner handy to display it,

There's silver. . . . Yes, the house looks extra nice, If I do say it.

"The very flame is trembling, and the smoke
Goes whirling upward with an eager rustling;
The household's overrun with busy folk.
Just see them hustling!

"What's that?

You want to know the cause of this? Why, it's the birthday of friend P. Mæcenas; And doubly dear because the season is

Sacred to Venus.

"Some holiday? Some holiday is right!

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well, my Latin heart and soul are in it. Therefore I hope you'll be on hand tonight Eh?... Just a minute.

'Telephus? Pah. He isn't worth a thought-
If Telly dares neglect you, dear, why let him!
He's nothing but a giddy good-for-nought.
Come and forget him.

heart set.

"Come, and permit your grief to be assuaged;
Forsake this flirt on whom you have your
Besides, Dame Rumor hath it he's engaged
'One of our smart set.'

"From vain desires and too ambitious dreams The doom of Phaeton's enough to scare you. . . This is ahem my favorite of themes


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But, dear, I spare you.

Come then, so that the evening may not lack

Your voice that makes each heart a willing rover: And, as we sing, black Care will grow less black Oh, come on over.

"Rather does the thing, doesn't it?” was Jason's tag to his reading.

"To have a serious poet, the passionate singer of beauty and humanity of such poems as are in the collection Challenge,' try his hand, and succeed so conspicuously, on themes and in a manner here presented, lifts parody into the creative sisterhood of poetic art. It is," I concluded, "one more aspect of our poetic growth and development."

"That's growing to be an old wives' tale," laughed Psyche as we came out on the road, and returned to The Farm.



OVER the fields and woods was a spirit in the air which had been gradually settling for days past, and we felt it keenly. The landscape had grown aloof and watchful; you noticed it more clearly if you arose early in the morning, when all the grass and trees were under a blanket of thick, glistening dew. Was it dew or mist? It did not melt then, as in midsummer, but blew away with almost a visible rush. There was a sharpness in the air that nibbled at one's imagination. The mountain to the northwest of The Farm lifted its head of cold gray blue against the flat surface of a sky which sharpened every shadow and outline. I had stayed over night this week at The Farm to finish some work which I fancied would be better done than in the noisy distraction of the town. I noticed, on my early walk, that as the sun rose higher and higher in the heavens, the earth passed through a number of sudden and visible moods. Instead of that peaceful mood of midsummer which accompanies the progress of the forenoon, the countryside grew restless and melancholy in turn, almost taking shape and action, giving one the impression that Nature had as

sumed wild, faun-like emotions. In the glinting sunlight you could almost see the troubled, alert eyes of a faun; and woods, hills and valleys were as its shaggy limbs, trying to evade some mysterious spirits. The feeling one has cannot be described; one can only make fanciful conjectures. There is little that is so illusory about the coming of autumn. The tinge of sadness which everywhere touches the ripeness of things, gives a tone of vibrancy to Nature which is provocative. Its effect upon human emotion is thrilling, though in a subdued key.

I had gone up to The Farm the night before and after tea had put in the hours till midnight on some work. Jason came up earlier than usual the next day, for an extra hour, as he said, to watch the sharp noon sunshine mellow into afternoon. "It is all in the tilt of the shadows," he explained. He stood on the porch looking towards the east. "I can't describe the process but I seem to feel a pulse that beats out there in the grass," he added, "and I know the earth has made another swing of the pendulum, and ticked somewhere thousands of miles beneath its surface. The first signs of that tree's shadow," he pointed to the apple-tree across the road, "lengthening eastward is the registering of the earth's orientation on an immense scale. And I feel it all here," he said, tapping his breast, "like a soft, seductive memory."

Later when we were going up the Derry Road on our way to the grove I discovered how deeply

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