Nor　any　the　less　a　part　of　the　question
  Of　what　the　drama　means。
  Zilpha　Marsh
  AT　four　o'clock　in　late　October
  I　sat　alone　in　the　country　school…house
  Back　from　the　road　；mid　stricken　fields；
  And　an　eddy　of　wind　blew　leaves　on　the　pane；
  And　crooned　in　the　flue　of　the　cannon…stove；
  With　its　open　door　blurring　the　shadows
  With　the　spectral　glow　of　a　dying　fire。
  In　an　idle　mood　I　was　running　the　planchette
  All　at　once　my　wrist　grew　limp；
  And　my　hand　moved　rapidly　over　the　board；
  OTill　the　name　of　〃Charles　Guiteau〃　was　spelled；
  Who　threatened　to　materialize　before　me。
  I　rose　and　fled　from　the　room　bare…headed
  Into　the　dusk；　afraid　of　my　gift。
  And　after　that　the　spirits　swarmed
  Chaucer；　Caesar；　Poe　and　Marlowe；
  Cleopatra　and　Mrs。　Surratt
  Wherever　I　went；　with　messages；
  Mere　trifling　twaddle；　Spoon　River　agreed。
  You　talk　nonsense　to　children；　don't　you？
  And　suppose　I　see　what　you　never　saw
  And　never　heard　of　and　have　no　word　for；
  I　must　talk　nonsense　when　you　ask　me
  What　it　is　I　see！
  James　Garber
  Do　you　remember；　passer…by；　the　path
  I　wore　across　the　lot　where　now　stands　the　opera　house
  Hasting　with　swift　feet　to　work　through　many　years？
  Take　its　meaning　to　heart：
  You　too　may　walk；　after　the　hills　at　Miller's　Ford
  Seem　no　longer　far　away；
  Long　after　you　see　them　near　at　hand；
  Beyond　four　miles　of　meadow；
  And　after　woman's　love　is　silent
  Saying　no　more：　〃l　will　save　you。〃
  And　after　the　faces　of　friends　and　kindred
  Become　as　faded　photographs；　pitifully　silent；
  Sad　for　the　look　which　means：
  〃We　cannot　help　you。〃
  And　after　you　no　longer　reproach　mankind
  With　being　in　league　against　your　soul's　uplifted　hands
  Themselves　compelled　at　midnight　and　at　noon
  To　watch　with　steadfast　eye　their　destinies；
  After　you　have　these　understandings；　think　of　me
  And　of　my　path；　who　walked　therein　and　knew
  That　neither　man　nor　woman；　neither　toil；
  Nor　duty；　gold　nor　power
  Can　ease　the　longing　of　the　soul；
  The　loneliness　of　the　soul！
  Lydia　Humphrey
  BACK　and　forth；　back　and　forth；　to　and　from　the　church；
  With　my　Bible　under　my　arm
  OTill　I　was　gray　and　old；
  Unwedded；　alone　in　the　world；
  Finding　brothers　and　sisters　in　the　congregation；
  And　children　in　the　church。
  I　know　they　laughed　and　thought　me　queer。
  I　knew　of　the　eagle　souls　that　flew　high　in　the　sunlight；
  Above　the　spire　of　the　church；　and　laughed　at　the　church；
  Disdaining　me；　not　seeing　me。
  But　if　the　high　air　was　sweet　to　them；　sweet　was　the　church　to　me。
  It　was　the　vision；　vision；　vision　of　the　poets
  Democratized！
  Le　Roy　Goldman
  WHAT　will　you　do　when　you　come　to　die；
  If　all　your　life　long　you　have　rejected　Jesus；
  And　know　as　you　lie　there；
  He　is　not　your　friend？〃
  Over　and　over　I　said；　I；　the　revivalist。
  Ah；　yes！　but　there　are　friends　and　friends。
  And　blessed　are　you；　say　I；　who　know　all　now；
  You　who　have　lost　ere　you　pass；
  A　father　or　mother；　or　old　grandfather　or　mother
  Some　beautiful　soul　that　lived　life　strongly
  And　knew　you　all　through；　and　loved　you　ever；
  Who　would　not　fail　to　speak　for　you；
  And　give　God　an　intimate　view　of　your　soul
  As　only　one　of　your　flesh　could　do　it。
  That　is　the　hand　your　hand　will　reach　for；
  To　lead　you　along　the　corridor
  To　the　court　where　you　are　a　stranger！
  Gustav　Richter
  AFTER　a　long　day　of　work　in　my　hothouses
  Sleep　was　sweet；　but　if　you　sleep　on　your　left　side
  Your　dreams　may　be　abruptly　ended。
  I　was　among　my　flowers　where　some　one
  Seemed　to　be　raising　them　on　trial；
  As　if　after…while　to　be　transplanted
  To　a　larger　garden　of　freer　air。
  And　I　was　disembodied　vision
  Amid　a　light；　as　it　were　the　sun
  Had　floated　in　and　touched　the　roof　of　glass
  Like　a　toy　balloon　and　softly　bursted；
  And　etherealized　in　golden　air。
  And　all　was　silence；　except　the　splendor
  Was　immanent　with　thought　as　clear
  As　a　speaking　voice；　and　I；　as　thought；
  Could　hear　a
  Presence　think　as　he　walked
  Between　the　boxes　pinching　off　leaves；
  Looking　for　bugs　and　noting　values；
  With　an　eye　that　saw　it　all：
  〃Homer；　oh　yes！　Pericles；　good。
  Caesar　Borgia；　what　shall　be　done　with　it？
  Dante；　too　much　manure；　perhaps。
  Napoleon；　leave　him　awhile　as　yet。
  Shelley；　more　soil。　　Shakespeare；　needs　spraying〃
  Clouds；　eh！
  Arlo　Will
  DID　you　ever　see　an　alligator
  Come　up　to　the　air　from　the　mud；
  Staring　blindly　under　the　full　glare　of　noon？
  Have　you　seen　the　stabled　horses　at　night
  Tremble　and　start　back　at　the　sight　of　a　lantern？
  Have　you　ever　walked　in　darkness
  When　an　unknown　door　was　open　before　you
  And　you　stood；　it　seemed；　in　the　light　of　a　thousand　candles
  Of　delicate　wax？
  Have　you　walked　with　the　wind　in　your　ears
  And　the　sunlight　about　you
  And　found　it　suddenly　shine　with　an　inner　splendor？
  Out　of　the　mud　many　times
  Before　many　doors　of　light
  Through　many　fields　of　splendor；
  Where　around　your　steps　a　soundless　glory　scatters
  Like　newfallen　snow；
  Will　you　go　through　earth；　O　strong　of　soul；
  And　through　unnumbered　heavens
  To　the　final　flame！
  Captain　Orlando　Killion
  OH；　YOU　young　radicals　and　dreamers；
  You　dauntless　fledglings
  Who　pass　by　my　headstone；
  Mock　not　its　record　of　my　captaincy　in　the　army
  And　my　faith　in　God！
  They　are　not　denials　of　each　other。
  Go　by　reverently；　and　read　with　sober　care
  How　a　great　people；　riding　with　defiant　shouts
  The　centaur　of　Revolution；
  Spurred　and　whipped　to　frenzy；
  Shook　with　terror；　seeing　the　mist　of　the　sea
  Over　the　precipice　they　were　nearing；
  And　fell　from　his　back　in　precipitate　awe
  To　celebrate　the　Feast　of　the　Supreme　Being。
  Moved　by　the　same　sense　of　vast　reality
  Of　life　and　death；　and　burdened　as　they　were
  With　the　fate　of　a　race；
  How　was　I；　a　little　blasphemer；
  Caught　in　the　drift　of　a　nation's　unloosened　flood；
  To　remain　a　blasphemer；
  And　a　captain　in　the　army？
  Joseph　Dixon
  WHO　carved　this　shattered　harp　on　my　stone？
  I　died　to　you；　no　doubt。　But　how　many　harps　and　pianos
  Wired　I　and　tightened　and　disentangled　for　you；
  Making　them　sweet　againwith　tuning　fork　or　without？
  Oh　well！　A　harp　leaps　out　of　the　ear　of　a　man；　you　say；
  But　whence　the　ear　that　orders　the　length　of　the　strings
  To　a　magic　of　numbers　flying　before　your　thought
  Through　a　door　that　closes　against　your　breathless　wonder？
  Is　there　no　Ear　round　the　ear　of　a　man；　that　it　senses
  Through　strings　and　columns　of　air　the　soul　of　sound？
  I　thrill　as　I　call　it　a　tuning　fork　that　catches
  The　waves　of　mingled　music　and　light　from　afar；
  The　antennae　of
  Thought　that　listens　through　utmost　space。
  Surely　the　concord　that　ruled　my　spirit　is　proof
  Of　an　Ear　that　tuned　me；　able　to　tune　me　over
  And　use　me　again　if　I　am　worthy　to　use。
  Russell　Kincaid
  IN　the　last　spring　I　ever　knew；
  In　those　last　days；　I　sat　in　the　forsaken　orchard
  Where　beyond　fields　of　greenery　shimmered
  The　hills　at　Miller's　Ford；
  Just　to　muse　on　the　apple　tree
  With　its　ruined　trunk　and　blasted　branches；
  And　shoots　of　green　whose　delicate　blossoms
  Were　sprinkled　over　the　skeleton　tangle；
  Never　to　grow　in　fruit。
  And　there　was　I　with　my　spirit　girded
  By　the　flesh　half　dead；　the　senses　numb
  Yet　thinking　of　youth　and　the　earth　in　youth；
  Such　phantom　blossoms　palely　shining
  Over　the　lifeless　boughs　of　Time。
  O　earth　that　leaves　us　ere　heaven　takes　us！
  Had　I　been　only　a　tree　to　shiver
  With　dreams　of　spring　and　a　leafy　youth；
  Then　I　had　fallen　in　the　cyclone
  Which　swept　me　out　of　the　soul's　suspense
  Where　it's　neither　earth　nor　heaven。
  Aaron　Hatfield
  BETTER　than　granite；　Spoon　River；
  Is　the　memory…picture　you　keep　of　me
  Standing　before　the　pioneer　men　and　women
  There　at　Concord　Church　on　Communion　day。
  Speaking　in　broken　voice　of　the　peasant　youth
  Of　Galilee　who　went　to　the　city
  And　was　killed　by　bankers　and　lawyers；
  My　voice　mingling　with　the　June　wind
  That　blew　over　wheat　fields　from　Atterbury；
  While　the　white　stones　in　the　burying　ground
  Around　the　Church　shimmered　in　the　summer　sun。
  And　there；　though　my　own　memories
  Were　too　great　to　bear；　were　you；　O　pioneers；
  With　bowed　heads　breathing　forth　your　sorrow
  For　the　sons　killed　in　battle　and　the　daughters
  And　little　children　who　vanished　in　life's　morning；
  Or　at　the　intolerable　hour　of　noon。
  But　in　those　moments　of　tragic　silence；
  When　the　wine　and　bread　were　passed；
  Came　the　reconciliation　for　us
  Us　the　ploughmen　and　the　hewers　of　wood；
  Us　the　peasants；　brothers　of　the　peasant　of　Galilee
  To　us　came　the　Comforter
  And　the　consolation　of　tongues　of　flame！
  Isaiah　Beethoven
  THEY　told　me　I　had　three　months　to　live；
  So　I　crept　to　Bernadotte；
  And　sat　by　the　mill　for　hours　and　hours
  Where　the　gathered　waters　deeply　moving
  Seemed　not　to　move：
  O　world；　that's　you！
  You　are　but　a　widened　place　in　the　river
  Where　Life　looks　down　and　we　rejoice　for　her
  Mirrored　in　us；　and　so　we　dream　And　turn　away；　but　when　again
  We　look　for　the　face；　behold　the　low…lands
  And　blasted　cotton…wood　trees　where　we　empty
  Into　the　larger　stream！
  But　here　by　the　mill　the　castled　clouds
  Mocked　themselves　in　the　dizzy　water；
  And　over　its　agate　floor　at　night
  The　flame　of　the　moon　ran　under　my　eyes
  Amid　a　forest　stillness　broken
  By　a　flute　in　a　hut　on　the　hill。
  At　last　when　I　came　to　lie　in　bed
  Weak　and　in　pain；　with　the　dreams　about　me；
  The　soul　of　the　river　had　entered　my　soul；
  And　the