Out of my arms she stealeth; and I am left alone with the night, Void of all sounds save peace, the first faint glimmer of light. Into the quiet, hushed stillness my Frangepani goes. Is there peace within like the peace without? Only the darkness knows. THE SERVING GIRL The calabash wherein she served my food, Was smooth and polished as sandalwood: Fish, as white as the foam of the sea, Peppered, and golden fried for me. She brought palm wine that carelessly slips From the sleeping palm tree’s honeyed lips. But who can guess, or even surmise The countless things she served with her eyes? BABY COBINA BROWN BABY COBINA, with his large black velvet eyes, His little coos of ecstacies, his gurgling of surprise, With brass bells on his ankles, that laugh where’er he goes, It’s so rare for bells to tinkle, above brown dimpled toes. BROWN BABY COBINA is so precious that we fear Something might come and steal him, when we grownups are not near; So we tied bells on his ankles, and kissed on them this charm-- “Bells, guard our Baby Cobina from all devils and all harm.” LUCY ARIEL WILLIAMS Lucy Ariel Williams was born in Mobile, Alabama, March 3, 1905. Her parents, Dr. and Mrs. H. Roger Williams surrounded her with the aesthetic and cultural environment usually given the only daughters in professional homes in the South. Miss Williams is well known as a modiste, poet and extremely talented pianist. Her early training was acquired at Emerson Institute, Mobile, Alabama. Later she was graduated from Talladega College and Fisk University, after which she attended Oberlin Conservatory of Music, Oberlin, Ohio. Although a first year student there, she received third year classification, being the first member of her race to be so honored. Her work has appeared in _Opportunity_ and other journals. Her poem “Northboun’” received first prize in the _Opportunity_ contest for 1926. NORTHBOUN’ O’ de wurl’ ain’t flat, An’ de wurl’ ain’t roun’, H’it’s one long strip Hangin’ up an’ down-- Jes’ Souf an’ Norf; Jes’ Norf an’ Souf. Talkin’ ’bout sailin’ ’round de wurl’-- Huh! I’d be so dizzy my head ’ud twurl. If dis heah earf wuz jes’ a ball You no the people all ’ud fall. O’ de wurl’ ain’t flat, An’ de wurl’ ain’t roun’, H’it’s one long strip Hangin’ up an’ down-- Jes’ Souf an’ Norf; Jes’ Norf an’ Souf. Talkin’ ’bout the City whut Saint John saw-- Chile you oughta go to Saginaw; A nigger’s chance is “finest kind,” An’ pretty gals ain’t hard to find. Huh! de wurl’ ain’t flat, An’ de wurl’ ain’t roun’, Jes’ one long strip Hangin’ up an’ down. Since Norf is up, An’ Souf is down, An’ Hebben is up, I’m upward boun’. GEORGE LEONARD ALLEN I was born in Lumberton, North Carolina, September 10, 1905. My parents, Professor and Mrs. D. P. Allen, were then in charge of Whitin Normal School, a thriving secondary school which was discontinued at my father’s death some ten years ago.