New-York tribune., 1919-04-13


trated it's unconquerable soul.
The conviction that there must be some
thing of primordial instinct associated
with the writing of verse-at least in
spring time-will abide with those who
observe the annual onrush of these
regiments of rhyme against the citadel
Of the satirists.
why do we find it admirable when
200-pound poet takes advantage of a
violet?" asks Emma Bugbee in The New
York Tribune. The writer of spring
poetry will deny that, of course. He,
and as probably she, will deny, even,
that he is press agent for a Sixth Ave
nue. florist. He will affirm only that he
is moved to irresistible dactyls and lam
bics by the effect on mankind of the
modest violet creeping through the sub
urban brush.
Now is the time to bespeak sympathy
for spring. continues Miss Bugbee,
who, by the way, bespeaks an eight-hour
day for nature. I'm a few days the an
aual hue and cry will begin. Our feeble
words will be drowned in the uproar
made by all the bloodsucking poets, to
say nothing of those predatory CONNER
cial interests which fatten on the first
arbutus and the pussy willow"
Spring poetry of 1919 does not vary
in fabric or design from that of its
predecessors. April, flowers, birds, fish
even frogs-sunshine, etc, still are
the choice subjects for metric inspira-
ton. There has been some concern ex-
pressed over the tardness of spring, but
The Bridgeport Post" assures us that
there is one thing the belated winter
won't do, and that's to freeze out the
crop Of spring poems"-an assumption
amply corroborated by fact
Isabella Virginia Freeland, in 1.-The
Cleveland Plain Dealer" celebrates
spring and the fulflment of celestial
promise as follows:
lore to tUdtch the little buds
Thro1o off their 1uinter coats,
love to hear the music,
From pretty feathered throots,
I lore to feel the spring time
IN sky and grass, and tree,
For knoaO it is Gods promise
When the ,Uorld seems dark to mr..
The Washington Star" advances the
song of the frogs as a highly authentic
harbinger of spring The final stanza of
a verse devoted to the harmony of the
little amphibians follows:
They seem to sing Of the songs that
fade,
And the grass so green and the leofy
shade
They don't reed language to help EN-
Explaining ,chot they are singing about.
For art they neuer assume to strive;
They sing 'cause they're glad wsre oil
And there's mighty little seems going
'crong,
When the frogs ont yo,,der sing O. spring
time song.
Speaking metrically and with spring
time buoyancy of bees and birds and
~
Times characterizes the blackbird in the
following fortnight manner
That blackbird Is a IaSy bum,
IVho idles all the day:
"Oh DON'T you k7,or0 that sprlng has
come 2"
I heard the rascal soy
"Loafer echy don't you 90 to toork,
Tis uery nearly noon?"
La, Ea," he ons1cers vith q sr,trk,
"A p,~il is con,in' soon
81 don't care il I'm hummer,
This 's the life for me.
"WiN you bum around oil SUMMER"
y OIL bet rofY" says lie.
Whatever the artistic and inspra-
tional beauty of spring sunshine may be,
Ted Robinson, in THE Cleveland Plain
Dealer,' finds it is possessed of a purely
analytical quality that adds to the high
cost of living:
O sunshine Of the Spring time, What
gorgeous things you do
You cast upon the dull gray earth q
glorious, aureGte hue
Q sunshine Of the Spring TIME, yott t71rn
the dust to gold
But gee, you make the fur,sit1lre aud
eUau paper look old
And tchen 90 a-,oalksng, IN you to
bask and gtodt,
You make a sordid, shabby thing Of this
old oUercOdti