The Glenwood post., 1916-09-23
THE GREATEST POEM OF THE AGE

tion of Women's Clubs held in Glen
wood the following interesting paper
was presented by Mrs. R. H. Bruce Of
Sterling, Colo: = a-A
The subject for this round table dis
cussion is one that opens anew the
pages of literature and verse and 'as we
call the roll of the writers, ancient and
modern, we wonder if it would not be
an offense to name favorite author or
poem for we love them all and each in
its way has left its impress on life and
letters.
We are prone to ask "What is your
favorite flower?" and can we answer
truthfully? Is not each flower that
blooms your favorite, if that be the
flower you are now gazing upon!
Woods and meadows and all the flowers
that haunt springtime woodlands and
ravines or vaunt their gold on autumn
hills, if there is one I do not love,
wonder which it is? I will not choose
as much as I will gather and enjoy all
the flowers which tangle in Natures
garden through the bewildering year.
It is so with the seasons. No one
shall decoy me into expressing prefer
ence. The spring, with its budding and
unfolding loveliness, the summer with
its turquoise sky and perfect verdure,
the autumn with its glow and harvest,
the winter with its snow and frost and
foliage, all, all are needed to make up
the round of the year, so why choose?
We do not always need to select. Take
what comes. What call for anybody to
choose one star of the armament? We
love each one and not one can be spared
from the wide pasturelands of heaven.
on, and may no. single light blow out.
Is not that better than saying this one
is brighter, lovlier, than that onei
Choosey folks are hard to please and
in talking of my favorite I want to
say, they are all favorites because each
in turn tells the story that the heart is
hungering for at that particular mo-
ment. People have moods, and so the
people who have written have expressed
these moods and lenses of life.
saw little, wiggling worm,
Uncertain what to do,
He simply squirmed his little squirm
Until the day was through.
"I want to know" the little worm
Exclaimed as he expired,
"If one but wiggles all day long,
| What more can be desired
| Do we not often feel, when we have
time to read,
Not from the grand old masters, not
| from the bards sublime
Whose distant footsteps echo through
the corridors of time, ..
But read from some humber poet,
whose song gushed from his heart
Like the rain from the clouds in summer
or the tears from the eyelids start.'
Writing poetry is not our normal or
individual achievement; but interpret
ing that poetry into life and action,
that is our business. Seeing and feel
ing and being poetry is life s best work.
Poetry is action. rythmic, graceful
and truthful and the best poem that
was ever written is the one that makes
us "feel the noblest, act the best. "
Poetry is spontaneous. 1t bubbles
forth, gushes out and flows over. 1t IS
the full cup of joy or of sadness, of
moan or laughter. Some poets have
been hired to write some set thing, but
this never found them at their best.
The laureate's task was not an easy
one. That was paid service, and what
is paid for is the prose of life and not
its poetry. Let the court minstrel sing
ever so wisely, but let the poet of tho
field, taught by free bird and unfet-
tered stream, warble ga man. g a man
for a that" and he has set in motion
and put into words poem and sem
timent that will echo and re-echo
through the centuries, and draw the
hearts of the world. ,raus5- .a Is
We need not open the pages Of Eng
lish poetry or Latin verse to find that
which is ennobling and uplifting, nor
need, We scansthe leaves Of American,
song-writers for our favorite. five,
knew, we would not tell, for we hold
this trpth itorbe paramount! That Ais
the rbest1 which fingers In memory ard
keeps the brain from withsrisg andothsI
heart from breakinsn Lib is not all ~
song Of eladness and gles and tie test
poem Is the one that sings at tho right
Nms n khn p;nhA. -Sr ~ II. A.