American Poetry 1922

 Includes an active table of contents for easy navigation.

CONTENTS

AMY LOWELL      

Lilacs

Twenty-four Hokku on a Modern Theme

The Swans

Prime

Vespers

In Excelsis

La Ronde du Diable

ROBERT FROST    

Fire and Ice

The Grindstone

The Witch of Coös

A Brook in the City

Design

CARL SANDBURG           

And So To-day

California City Landscape

Upstream

Windflower Leaf

VACHEL LINDSAY          

In Praise of Johnny Appleseed

I Know All This When Gipsy Fiddles Cry

JAMES OPPENHEIM         

Hebrews

ALFRED KREYMBORG    

Adagio: A Duet

Die Küche

Rain

Peasant

Bubbles

Dirge

Colophon

SARA TEASDALE 

Wisdom

Places

Twilight (Tucson)   

Full Moon (Santa Barbara)  

Winter Sun (Lenox)

Evening (Nahant)    

Words for an Old Air

Those Who Love

Two Songs for Solitude

The Crystal Gazer   

The Solitary

LOUIS UNTERMEYER      

Monolog from a Mattress

Waters of Babylon

The Flaming Circle

Portrait of a Machine

Roast Leviathan

JOHN GOULD FLETCHER           

A Rebel

The Rock

Blue Water

Prayers for Wind

Impromptu

Chinese Poet Among Barbarians

Snowy Mountains

The Future

Upon the Hill

The Enduring

JEAN STARR UNTERMEYER      

Old Man

Tone Picture

They Say—

Rescue

Mater in Extremis

Self-Rejected

H. D.           

Holy Satyr

Lais

Heliodora

Toward the Piræus

Slay with your eyes, Greek 

You would have broken my wings 

I loved you 

What had you done

If I had been a boy 

It was not chastity that made me cold         

CONRAD AIKEN  

Seven Twilights

The ragged pilgrim on the road to nowhere 

Now by the wall of the ancient town          

When the tree bares, the music of it changes [Pg x]

"This is the hour," she says, "of transmutation"      

Now the great wheel of darkness and low clouds   

Heaven, you say, will be a field in April    

In the long silence of the sea          

Tetélestai

EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY     

Eight Sonnets

When you, that at this moment are to me    

What's this of death, from you who never will die 

I know I am but summer to your heart        

Here is a wound that never will heal, I know          

What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why           

Euclid alone has looked on Beauty bare     

Oh, oh, you will be sorry for that word!     

Say what you will, and scratch my heart to find