Autumn 1941 • Vol. III No. 4 Younger Poets |

Page Torn from a Note-Book

Not as though storks were sorry that they’d brought the childBut just as summer clouds gather and graySo did the friendship waver, so did time delayIts final shot too long, and play too hardily the witch.Finally, as we know, the whole world broke and fell,The soldiers mutinied like salts; the kings invadedHeads of queens, queens drank dull-flavored poisons,Pages fell from inanition, and the crowds maligned their loved.Trouble with its deep truths and rights caught privilegeFrom administrative hands, and used its knowledgeTo inflict its pain. All was disorganized, the circling vulturesWrongly chose their dead from life, and plucked confusedlyThe blinking eyes of babes, the drooping ears of thoughtful men.How could this happen, how could life desertIts office of reward, judicious punishment,For such far-reaching, unaccountable disease and misery?Far beyond estimate, the crucified had grown:Who could make pertinent to God the horizontal woe,Stretching its miles of agony over the head

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Coup d’Etat

By Ruth Herschberger

Not as though storks were sorry that they’d brought the childBut just as summer clouds gather and graySo did the friendship waver, so did time delayIts final shot too long, […]

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