one artist's soul. And this in Duse's acting satisfies and feeds them, because it partakes of the nature and function of all arts and of every single art. And for all people for whom Duse's art is a power and a new impulse of life, Duse's supreme quality is what lies behind no art in particular but behind all art, the response to life. The poet, the musician, the painter and architect and actor or dancer, and the saint also, whose life and ways possess the continuity and creative passion of art, all draw life to them by their capacity for it. In them life is gathered, it refracts, simplifies, finds out its essential and eternal principle or idea and a new body for it, and so goes on. And in Duse of all artists people most feel the thing they most respond to in all living, an infinity of tragic wonder and tenderness. STARK YOUNG. And forever our tongues shall be dry I will lock my hot lips on lament, I have that she has given not, nor taketh, Like a star in black waters, the gleam Of the light that lies drowned in her darkness, The dream that is more than a dream. THE CHARITY OF FROST BY JOSEPH AUSLANDER Love came to me as came to me The cool clear meaning of your hands: So quietly-as quietly As water when it stands. It cannot end as all things end, Grow old and sicken and be lost; Like water it will comprehend LINES BY THE BOSPHORUS BY HAMILTON FISH ARMSTRONG Five hundred years since, Osman's fiery son, Down in the curving shadows of the Straits, I see Byzantium's walls tossed in the dust. Five hundred years of darkness and decay, Five hundred years of night-five hundred years The nations eye the slow-receding tide; They wonder at the corpses that will show "The World's at war with tyrants-shall I crouch?”The guns at Missolonghi one by one Sound slowly for his death, but not defeat. I see the landing boats at Suvla Bay, The heights enplumed with caustic puffs of smoke,— The sand, the rocks, the desperate, desperate boats I see this day a Turk upon the heights Pause and survey the gleaming Bosphorus, The needle minarets, Sophia's dome, Turn and descend through crooked lanes, and crossCross back to Europe,-back five hundred years. POSSESSION BY ARTHUR DAVISON FICKE I would possess you with that certitude |