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The wind of a mane and a tail, and four
Wild hoofs prancing the forest-floor.
And I'd open my eyes on a flashing horn-
And see the Unicorn!

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But he's never had anything to eat!
Knights have tramped in their iron-mong❜ry
But nobody thought-that's all!—he's hungry!

ADDENDUM

Really hungry! Good Lord deliver us,
The Unicorn is not carnivorous!

John Hall Wheelock

John Hall Wheelock was born at Far Rockaway, Long Island, in 1886. He was graduated from Harvard, receiving his B.A. in 1908, and finished his studies at the Universities of Göttingen and Berlin, 1908-10.

Wheelock's first book is, in many respects, his best. The Human Fantasy (1911) sings with the voice of youth-a youth which is vibrantly in love with existence. Rhapsodic and obviously influenced by Whitman and Henley, these lines beat bravely. A headlong ecstasy rises from pages whose refrain is "Splendid it is to live and glorious to die."

SUNDAY EVENING IN THE COMMON

Look-on the topmost branches of the world
The blossoms of the myriad stars are thick;
Over the huddled rows of stone and brick,
A few, sad wisps of empty smoke are curled
Like ghosts, languid and sick.

One breathless moment now the city's moaning Fades, and the endless streets seem vague and dim; There is no sound around the whole world's rim, Save in the distance a small band is droning

Some desolate old hymn.

Van Wyck, how often have we been together
When this same moment made all mysteries clear;
-The infinite stars that brood above us here,
And the gray city in the soft June weather,
So tawdry and so dear!

LOVE AND LIBERATION

Lift your arms to the stars
And give an immortal shout;
Not all the veils of darkness
Can put your beauty out!

You are armed with love, with love,

Nor all the powers of Fate
Can touch you with a spear,
Nor all the hands of hate.

What of good and evil,
Hell and Heaven above-,
Trample them with love!
Ride over them with love!

Joyce Kilmer

(Alfred) Joyce Kilmer was born at New Brunswick, New Jersey, December 6, 1886. He was graduated from Rutgers College in 1904 and received his A.B. from Columbia in 1906.

The

In 1917 Kilmer joined the Officers' Reserve Training Corps, but he soon resigned from this. In less than three weeks after America entered the world war, he enlisted as a private in the Seventh Regiment, National Guard, New York.

On July 28, 1918, the five-day battle for the mastery of the heights beyond the river Ourcq was begun. Two days later, Sergeant Kilmer was killed in action.

Death came before the poet had developed or even matured his gifts. His first volume, Summer of Love (1911), is wholly imitative; it is full of reflections of a dozen other sources, "a broken bundle of mirrors." Trees and Other Poems (1914) contains the title-poem by which Kilmer is best known and, though various influences are here, a refreshing candor lights up the lines. Main Street and Other Poems (1917) is less derivative; the simplicity is less self-conscious, the ecstasy more spontaneous.

TREES'

I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the sweet earth's flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

1From Trees and Other Poems by Joyce Kilmer. Copyright, 1914, by George H. Doran Company, Publishers.

1

MARTIN 1

When I am tired of earnest men,
Intense and keen and sharp and clever,
Pursuing fame with brush or pen

Or counting metal discs forever,
Then from the halls of shadowland
Beyond the trackless purple sea
Old Martin's ghost comes back to stand
Beside my desk and talk to me.

Still on his delicate pale face

A quizzical thin smile is showing,
His cheeks are wrinkled like fine lace,
His kind blue eyes are gay and glowing.

He wears a brilliant-hued cravat,

A suit to match his soft gray hair,
A rakish stick, a knowing hat,

A manner blithe and debonair.

How good, that he who always knew
That being lovely was a duty,

Should have gold halls to wander through
And should himself inhabit beauty.
How like his old unselfish way

To leave those halls of splendid mirth
And comfort those condemned to stay
Upon the bleak and sombre earth.

Some people ask: What cruel chance
Made Martin's life so sad a story?
Martin? Why, he exhaled romance
And wore an overcoat of glory.

'From Trees and Other Poems by Joyce Kilmer. Copyright, 1914, by George H. Doran Company, Publishers.

A fleck of sunlight in the street,

A horse, a book, a girl who smiled,—
Such visions made each moment sweet
For this receptive, ancient child.

Because it was old Martin's lot

To be, not make, a decoration,
Shall we then scorn him, having not
His genius of appreciation?
Rich joy and love he got and gave;
His heart was merry as his dress.
Pile laurel wreaths upon his grave
Who did not gain, but was, success.

Orrick Johns

Orrick Johns was born at St. Louis, Missouri, in 1887. He schooled himself to be an advertising copy writer, his creative work being kept as an avocation.

Asphalt and Other Poems (1917) is a queer mixture. Cheap stanzas crowd against lines of singular beauty. The same peculiarity is evident in Black Branches (1920), where much that is strained and artificial mingles with poetry that is not only spontaneous but searching. At his best, notably in the refreshing "Country Rhymes," Johns is a true and poignant singer.

THE INTERPRETER

In the very early morning when the light was low
She got all together and she went like snow,

Like snow in the springtime on a sunny hill,

And we were only frightened and can't think still.

We can't think quite that the katydids and frogs
And the little crying chickens and the little grunting hogs,

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