Wheelock’s first book is, in many respects, his best. _The Human Fantasy_ (1911) sings with the voice of youth—a youth which is vibrantly, even vociferously, in love with existence. Rhapsodic and obviously influenced by Whitman and Henley, these lines beat bravely; a singing buoyance arrests one upon opening the volume. A headlong ecstasy rises from pages whose refrain is “Splendid it is to live and glorious to die.” _The Beloved Adventure_ (1912) is less powerful but scarcely less passionate. Lyric after lyric moves one by its athletic music and spiritual intensity. Wheelock’s subsequent volumes are less individualized. _Love and Liberation_ (1913) and _Dust and Light_ (1919) are long dilutions of the earlier strain. The music is still here, but most of the magic has gone. Wheelock has allowed himself to be exploited by his own fluency, and the result is unbelievably monotonous. Yet even vast stretches of two hundred and thirty unvaried love songs cannot bury a dozen or more vivid poems which lie, half-concealed, in a waste of verbiage. In spite of his lapses and lack of selective taste, Wheelock is often a stirring lyricist. _The Human Fantasy_ is one of the most remarkable “first” books of the period. SUNDAY EVENING IN THE COMMON Look—on the topmost branches of the world The blossoms of the myriad stars are thick; Over the huddled rows of stone and brick, A few, sad wisps of empty smoke are curled Like ghosts, languid and sick. One breathless moment now the city’s moaning Fades, and the endless streets seem vague and dim; There is no sound around the whole world’s rim, Save in the distance a small band is droning Some desolate old hymn. Van Wyck, how often have we been together When this same moment made all mysteries clear; —The infinite stars that brood above us here, And the gray city in the soft June weather, So tawdry and so dear! BEAUTY The old, familiar Beauty, Caressed by the world’s dead hands, Beauty, so old and weary, Beloved of a thousand lovers, Worn with a thousand kisses, Surprising—beneficent—holy— Comes to us all in the end. LOVE AND LIBERATION Lift your arms to the stars And give an immortal shout; Not all the veils of darkness Can put your beauty out! You are armed with love, with love, Nor all the powers of Fate Can touch you with a spear, Nor all the hands of hate.