Gay little Girl-of-the-Diving-Tank, I desire a name for you, Nice, as a right glove fits; For you--who amid the malodorous Mechanics of this unlovely thing, Are darling of spirit and form. I know you--a glance, and what you are Sits-by-the-fire in my heart. My Limousine-Lady knows you, or Why does the slant-envy of her eye mark Your straight air and radiant inclusive smile? Guilt pins a fig-leaf; Innocence is its own adorning. The bull-necked man knows you--this first time His itching flesh sees form divine and vibrant health, And thinks not of his avocation. I came incuriously-- Set on no diversion save that my mind Might safely nurse its brood of misdeeds In the presence of a blind crowd. The color of life was gray. Everywhere the setting seemed right For my mood! Here the sausage and garlic booth Sent unholy incense skyward; There a quivering female-thing Gestured assignations, and lied To call it dancing; There, too, were games of chance With chances for none; But oh! the Girl-of-the-Tank, at last! Gleaming Girl, how intimately pure and free The gaze you send the crowd, As though you know the dearth of beauty In its sordid life. We need you--my Limousine-Lady, The bull-necked man, and I. Seeing you here brave and water-clean, Leaven for the heavy ones of earth, I am swift to feel that what makes The plodder glad is good; and Whatever is good is God. The wonder is that you are here; I have seen the queer in queer places, But never before a heaven-fed Naiad of the Carnival-Tank! Little Diver, Destiny for you, Like as for me, is shod in silence; Years may seep into your soul The bacilli of the usual and the expedient; I implore Neptune to claim his child to-day! MARY EFFIE LEE NEWSOME Born in Philadelphia January 19, 1885. Daughter of Bishop B. F. and Mrs. Mary Elizabeth Lee. Reared in Ohio, at Wilberforce. Married 1920, Rev. Henry Nesby Newsome. Is a lover of the out-of-doors, and of the beautiful. MORNING LIGHT[10] (The Dew-Drier) Brother to the firefly-- For as the firefly lights the night, So lights he the morning-- Bathed in the dank dews as he goes forth Through heavy menace and mystery Of half-waking tropic dawn, Behold a little boy, A naked black boy, Sweeping aside with his slight frame Night’s pregnant tears, And making a morning path to the light For the tropic traveler! 2 Bathed in the blood of battle, Treading toward a new morning, May not his race-- Its body long bared to the world’s disdain, Its face schooled to smile for a light to come-- May not his race, even as the Dew Boy leads, Bear onward the world to a time When tolerance, forbearance, Such as reigned in the heart of ONE Whose heart was gold Shall shape the world for that fresh dawning After the dews of blood? PANSY