mpsy--
Downling in the dimpsy
Theer went a maid wi' me.

Two gude mile o' walkin'
Not wan word o' talkin',
Then I axed a question
An' put the same to she.
Uplong in the owl-light, the owl-light, the owl-light--
Uplong in the owl-light
Theer come my maid wi' me.

A LITANY TO PAN

By the abortions of the teeming Spring,
By Summer's starved and withered offering,
By Autumn's stricken hope and Winter's sting,
Oh, hear!

By the ichneumon on the writhing worm,
By the swift, far-flung poison of the germ,
By soft and foul brought out of hard and firm,
Oh, hear!

By the fierce battle under every blade,
By the etiolation of the shade,
By drouth and thirst and things undone half made,
Oh, hear!

By all the horrors of re-quickened dust,
By the eternal waste of baffled lust,
By mildews and by cankers and by rust,
Oh, hear!

By the fierce scythe of Spring upon the wold,
By the dead eaning mother in the fold,
By stillborn, stricken young and tortured old,
Oh, hear!

By fading eyes pecked from a dying head,
By the hot mouthful of a thing not dead,
By all thy bleeding, struggling, shrieking red,
Oh, hear!

By madness caged and madness running free,
Through this our conscious race that heeds not thee,
In its concept insane of Liberty,
Oh, hear!

By all the agonies of all the past,
By earth's cold dust and ashes at the last,
By her return to the unconscious vast,
Oh, hear!

SWINBURNE

Children and lovers and the cloud-robed sea
Shall mourn him first; and then the mother land
Weeping in silence by his empty hand
And fallen sword that flashed for Liberty.
Song-bringer of a glad new minstrelsy,
He came and found joy sleeping and swift fanned
Old pagan fires, then snatched an altar brand
And wrote, "The fearless only shall be free!"
Oh, by the flame that made thine heart a home,
By the wild surges of thy silver song,
Seer before the sunrise, may there come
Spirits of dawn to light this aching wrong
Called Earth! Thou saw'st them in the foreglow roam;
But we still wait and watch, still thirst and long.

DORA SIGERSON SHORTER

THE WATCHER IN THE WOOD

Deep in the wood's recesses cool
I see the fairy dancers glide,
In cloth of gold, in gown of green,
My lord and lady side by side.

But who has hung from leaf to leaf,
From flower to flower, a silken twine--
A cloud of grey that holds the dew
In globes of clear enchanted wine.

Or stretches far from bra