Page:Anthology of Magazine Verse (1921).djvu/42

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Yet there must be something left to sayOf flowers like these!Adventurers,They pushed their wayThrough dewy tunnels of the June night . . . . . .Now they confer . . . . . .A little tremulous . . . . . .Dazzled by the yellow sea-beach of morning . . . . . .
If Herrick would tiptoe back . . . . . .If Blake were to look this way . . . . . .Ledwidge, even!
Contemporary VerseGrace Hazard Conkling


PHAEDRA REMEMBERS CRETE
Think, O my soul,of the red sands of Crete;think of the earth, the heatburnt fissure like the greatbacks of the temple serpents;think of the world you knew;as the tide crept, the landburned with a lizard-bluewhere the dark sea met the sand.
Think, O my soul—what power has struck you blind—is there no desert root, no forest-berry,pine-pitch or knot of firknown that can help the soulcaught in a force, a power,passionless, not its own?

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