The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1896-09-06
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poetry to merely perfunctory, mechanical
modes of expression is ever-besetting
danger. This danger, l repeat, Miss Stein
has not escaped, and her poems, taken as
a whole, exemplify anew the truth that
the really good work of inspirational writ
ers is the spontaneous output of rare mo-
ments not to be commanded, and the
pirant to excellence were wise to consider
as fruit the products of those moments
alone and let all doubtful matter rest in
privacy part of that long apprenticeship
which is necessary to perfection.
Let me- then, fix the conception I am
trying to bring out as to this writer's po-
etical ideal and the standpoint from which
she must be judged. To expect her, for the
sake of rounding out her art, to infuse into
her work more of the human element
as that is commonly thought Of is simply
not to appreciate that she has different
aim. To body forth the emotions of a sem
sitive spirit when played upon by the finer
forces of nature-that is her aim, and the
facie transmitting of these emotions must
be the criterion by which to judge her. In
solar as these emotions are experiences of
the human soul, and inasmuch as the text
of them is placidity, love. tenderness,
reverence, they constitute a human ele-
ment.' but not of the surface or more ap
parent kind. The excellence of this func-
ton is the Interpretation of nature in terms
of feeling, the failure of it the exact re-
porting of nature by the inventory
method (the difference that exists
between poetry and science), and, by
way of illustrating the successful form, I
here insert two specimens of Miss STEMS
verse. Lack of space forbids more. The
first, from her poem, THE Cascade Ra-
vine" is the more typical of her and the
OK of -DOetrV.
Then suddenly lew, sweet sound
Rose, family quivering on the breeze,
And all that blossom-studded ground
Seemed charged with murmurouS mys-
AS if ali rarest forest keys.
In dreamful chords divinely blent,
Sang forth from some sweet instrument;
While, pulsing through with rhythmic
In sIumberous melodies there went
The soft susurrus of the trees,
The wind that wandered through the
And all the changeful strains of these.
And, as listened. marveling
Where those sweet liquid tones might be,
Forgetting all and everything
Save that enchanting minstrelsy
I wandered slowly through the wood,
Till all at once the parted green
Revealed its secret, for / stood
Upon the verge of a rayine,
Tall. ru sti e hemiock boughs and, bright
AS FURNISHED silver in the light,
tiny stream tinkling through,
While, hidden somewhere out of sight,
A little spring made music, too
The shining water slipped and slipped
Adown the messy rocks, and dripped
From off fine fringing ferns in drops
OF endless threaded pearls. that tipped
The tasseled sedge and alder tops
With Pickering light: and then II slipped
A drowsy draught of sun. and dipped
Beneath small. clustering buds, and hid
Among lush rlarigolds, and slid
Between tail. serried ranks of reeds,
A nd stroked their little leaves and Tipped
The fiower-spangled jewel-weeds;
Then, speeding suddenly amid
Across white pebbiy sand. and stripped
The marsh-fiower's gold. and fled, half
seen,
A splash of silver through the green.
That is a fine example of the poets
message wherein every sight and sound.
refracted through the poetic fancy. is
clothed upon with beauty-beauty for its
own sake-and by that process reveals the
deep delight of one who has been taken TO
the heart of the "all-mother." The other
specimen more acceptable TO the average
reader needs no comment. 1t shows what
the writer is capable of:
THE MARCH FROSTS.
The little leaves that tip the trees
With palest greeneTy everywhere
D bitter nights that blight and freeze,
And cheerless winds. and Icy air.
Forbeari Forbeari
Have you no tenderness for these,
Nor any care?