Many the tyrants, my city, who held thee in thrall. What remains of them now? Names whispered back from the dark through a portal ajar, They come not again. By men thou wert made and wert marred, but, outlasting them all, Is the soul that is thou-- A soul that shall speak to my soul till I, too, pass afar, And perchance even then. _Century_ _Amelia Josephine Burr_ GHOSTS They call you cold New England, But underneath your snow Is blood as red as roses That in your gardens blow. The God that lights your forests With torch of cardinal flower, Forbids that ever the Puritan Escape his crimson hour. The flame that skims brown furrows-- The scarlet tanager’s breast, Is sign to preacher and ploughman Of dreams that haunt their rest. When witch and warlock perished By fagot, scaffold and tree, Their tortures slew their bodies But set their spirits free! In freedom gliding, gloating, Through the haunts their children claim The swollen ghosts of the wicked Grow fat on new-wrought shame. The old, sweet evil lingers, The demon of uncontrol, And madness creeps and crouches In every haggard soul. And he who held moon revels In Salem forests deep, Well loves his hypocrite servants Nor seeks to spoil their sleep. They call you cold New England-- But surely even your snow Is drift not of ice but of ashes, To guard the flames below! _Smart Set_ _Marguerite Mooers Marshall_ ST. JOHN AND THE FAUN I O blest Imagination! Bright power beneath man’s lid, That in apparent beauty Unveils the beauty hid! In the gleaming of the instant Abides the immortal thing; Our souls that voyage unspeaking Press forward, wing and wing; From every passing object A brighter radiance pours; The Lethe of our daily lives Sweeps by eternal shores. II On the deep below Amalfi, Where the long roll of the wave Slowly breathed, and slipped beneath me To gray cliff and sounding cave, Came a boat-load of dark fishers, Passed, and on the bright sea shone; There, the vision of a moment, I beheld the young St. John. At the stern the boy stood bending Full his dreaming gaze on me; Inexorably spread between us Flashed the blue strait of the sea; Slow receding,--distant,--distant,-- While my bosom scarce drew breath,-- Dreaming eyes on my eyes dreaming Holy beauty without death. III