The New World

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M. Kennerley, 1915 - American poetry - 59 pages

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Page 58 - The beauty of surrender, the tranquillity Of fusion: when, set free From semblance of mortality, Yielding its dust the richer to endue A common avenue Of earth for other souls to journey through, It shall put on in purer guise The mutual beauty of its destiny. And who shall fear for his identity, And who shall cling to the poor privacy Of incompleteness, when the end explains That what pride forfeits, beauty gains! Therefore, O spirit, as a runner strips Upon a windy afternoon, Be unencumbered of...
Page 9 - I touch them all through you," she said. " I cannot know them now, Deeply and truly as my very own, except through you, Except through one or two Interpreters. But not a moment stirs Here between us, binding and interweaving us, That does not bind these others to our care.
Page 41 - And men from every nation shall enroll, And women — in the hardihood of peace ! What can my anger do but cease ? Whom shall I fight and who shall be my enemy When he is I and I am he? Let me have done with that old God outside Who watched with preference and answered prayer, The Godhead that replied Now here, now there, Where heavy cannon were Or coins of gold ! Let me receive communion with all men Acknowledging our one and only soul! For not till then Can God be God till we ourselves are whole...
Page 21 - To share all beauty as the interchanging dust, To be akin and kind and to entrust All men to one another for their good, Is to have heard and understood, And carried to the common enemy In you and me, The ultimatum of democracy.
Page 22 - It is my faith that God is our own dream Of perfect understanding of the soul. It is my passion that, alike through me And every member of Eternity, The source of God is sending the same stream. It is my peace that when my life is whole, God's life shall be completed and supreme.
Page 31 - Somebody called Walt Whitman dead. He is alive instead, Alive as I am. When I lift my head, His head is lifted. When his brave mouth speaks, My lips contain his word. And when his rocker creaks Ghostly in Camden, there I sit in it and watch my hand grow old And take upon my constant lips the kiss of younger truth. . . . It is my joy to tell and to be told That he, in all the world and me, Cannot be dead, That I, in all the world and him, youth after youth Shall lift my head.
Page 6 - The greater part of this poem was delivered before the Harvard Chapter of the Phi Beta Kappa Society in June, 1911, entitled "An Immigrant.
Page 10 - more than merely this, More than the shine of sunset on our heads, more than a kiss, More than our rapt agreement and delight Watching the mountain mingle with the night. . . . Tell that the love of two incurs The love of multitudes, makes way And welcome for them, as a solitary star Brings on the great array. Go make a lovers' calendar," She said,
Page 40 - The age is bearing a new breed Of men and women, patriots of the world And one another. Boundaries in vain, Birthrights and countries, would constrain The old diversity of seed To be diversity of soul. O mighty patriots, maintain Your loyalty! — till flags unfurled For battle shall arraign The traitors who unfurled them, shall remain And shine over an army with no slain, And men from every nation shall enroll And .women — in the hardihood of peace! What can my anger do but cease ? Whom shall...
Page 57 - Hollows and willows and a river-bed, Anemones and clouds, Raindrops and tender distances Above, beneath, Inherit and bequeath Our far-begotten beauty. We are wed With many kindred who were seeming dead. Only the delicate woven shrouds Are vanished, beauty thrown aside To honor and uncover A deeper beauty — as the veil that slips Breathless away between a lover And his bride. So, by the body, may the soul surmise The beauty of surrender, the tranquillity...

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