ly a stray shining
Of daffodil flames amid April's cuckoo-flowers,
Or a cluster of aconite mixt with weeds entwining!
But, dark and lofty, a royal cedar towers
By homely thorns: whether the white rain drifts
Or sun scorches, he holds the downs in ken,
The western vale; his branchy tiers he lifts,
Older than many a generation of men.

_Alfred Douglas_

Lord Alfred Douglas was born in 1870 and educated at Magdalen College,
Oxford. He was the editor of _The Academy_ from 1907 to 1910 and was
at one time the intimate friend of Oscar Wilde. One of the minor
poets of "the eighteen-nineties," several of his poems rise above his
own affectations and the end-of-the-century decadence. _The City of
the Soul_ (1899) and _Sonnets_ (1900) contain his most graceful
writing.

THE GREEN RIVER

I know a green grass path that leaves the field
And, like a running river, winds along
Into a leafy wood, where is no throng
Of birds at noon-day; and no soft throats yield
Their music to the moon. The place is sealed,
An unclaimed sovereignty of voiceless song,
And all the unravished silences belong
To some sweet singer lost, or unrevealed.

So is my soul become a silent place....
Oh, may I wake from this uneasy night
To find some voice of music manifold.
Let it be shape of sorrow with wan face,
Or love that swoons on sleep, or else delight
That is as wide-eyed as a marigold.

_T. Sturge Moore_

Thomas Sturge Moore was born March 4, 1870. He is well known not only
as an author, but as a critic and wood-engraver. As an artist, he has
achieved no little distinction and has designed the covers for the
poetry of W. B. Yeats and others. As a poet, the greater portion of
his verse is severely classical in tone, academic in expression but,
of its kind, distinctive and intimate. Among his many volumes, the
most outstanding are _The Vinedresser and Other Poems_ (1899), _A
Sicilian Idyll_ (1911) and _The Sea Is Kind_ (1914).

THE DYING SWAN

O silver-throated Swan
Struck, struck! A golden dart
Clean through thy breast has gone
Home to thy heart.
Thrill, thrill, O silver throat!
O silver trumpet, pour
Love for defiance back
On him who smote!
And brim, brim o'er
With love; and ruby-dye thy track
Down thy last living reach
Of river, sail t