T ERSPEC TI V ES
Page Six 'PERSPECTI VES
LAWYER AMES GOES CALLING
"I'll have two lumps of sugar, please-
No, thanks, no lemon, if you do not mind."
I watched her fingers pour the tea with ease,
Her face was sad, but it was not unkind;
Her eyes were full (their gleam had been so brief!)
And through their lids I saw her memory stir;
Her cheeks were pale, but, I could tell, the Thief
Had left no other evidence with her;
The room (so like her), quaint and somewhat stale,
Smelling of citron and of old sachets,
Could well have pleaded for a gossip's tale
Made plausible with unbribed yesterdays;
I do not think she read my smiles amiss-
I held my saucer firmly on my knee;
But I was thinking of a misprized kiss
And~how my not returning led to this:
The fee she pays for her strange loyalty.
-Lawrence P. Spingarn
"How do you know you love," said I awake
Prodding my sober soul with light
Of reason and of day, "to make
Some image bone on midnight foam
Incautious ruler of your heart when surer sight
Finding it dream conception sends it home?"
"In that long line of famous beauties manned
By verse or picture to outreach
Their time these modern ladies stand,
Seen in quick autos or half-way
Upstairs to twist your night-thoughts into love for each
And fix a wall of fire when it turns day."
So fared it till one vision like a rod
Showed me one lady that excelled
And beat me to seek where she trod.
But death had wooed her long years gone
Despoiling me one real night, this fossil thralled
To my grieved heart that builds on each bright bone.
-Irving J. Weiss
I would portend the day your hallowed bones
Are dust and ashes only and that mind's
Hard brilliant bitterness at last confined
To sod and worms and only two hard stones
Crossing each other to remember you:
I would pitch words against your still, cold face,
Laugh your defeat, exalt in your disgrace
And even then not let off wanting you.
That even the fearful dominance of you
Should bend to futile dust's mortality,
I take your love with what it makes or mars.
The little instant images of you,
In spite of love's and life's fatality,.
Stand in the way of all the beckoning stars.
by C. FREDERICK KORTEN
Have you numbered the years that shoulder past?
Are they counted off, my friend?
Do you sentry the clock? Don't the hours last?
Is it time for a dividend?
The party's gay - but your eyes they fail?
You've got no thirst to dance?
It's a long, long drop - and your face goes pale?
And we glance at you askance?
We're lucky chaps - so young, you say:
We'll love and sport and grow.
We've got the sky the limitless day.
Not ours your loosed death-blow.
Old chap, your hair is wondrous white,
And your are wondrous old.
You won't object if we squads-right
And join you mold for mold?
The road was steep, my will was slow;
I waited to see what the sound would bring,
For something moved on the ground below,
A rabbit, a deer, a familiar thing ..
But no, it was, hardly one of these;
I swear I dreamt or was half asleep:
It was blind, and lame, and went on its knees -
And my will was slow, the road was steep.
-Lawrence P. Spingarn