But there are worse things. There is one type of person we always eject promptly from the office of THE LITTLE REVIEW. He is the person who says that Amy Lowell’s poetry has no feeling in it. Now please listen: I want to quote you something. It is called _Vernal Equinox_, it was written by Miss Lowell, and it appeared in the September issue of _Poetry_; but I want to see it put down in these pages so that we may actually know it has been in THE LITTLE REVIEW: The scent of hyacinths, like a pale mist, lies between me and my book; And the South Wind, washing through the room, Makes the candles quiver; My nerves sting at a spatter of rain on the shutter, And I am uneasy at the bursting of green shoots Outside, in the night. Why are you not here to overpower me with your tense and urgent love? A poet whose new book will soon be talked of said to me, when I showed this to him, “Yes, it’s very clever, but it has no feeling.” He left the office gladly in three minutes. Still there are worse things. _The Chicago Tribune_ sent a reporter to the Little Theatre to hear Miss Lowell read and to record his impression of her work and personality for those who still peruse the newspapers. You may have seen the reporter’s article.... And still worse?... Lots of people have been splitting hairs over Amy Lowell’s work, but no human being has been heard to remark: “A beautiful thing is happening in America. Amy Lowell is writing poetry for us.” Poems[2] ELIZABETH GIBSON CHEYNE The Cry Whenever there is silence around me, By day or by night, I am startled by the cry “Take me down from the cross!” The first time I heard it I went out and searched Till I found a man in the throes of crucifixion, And I said, “I will take you down,” And I tried to take the nails out of his feet, But he said “Let be; For I cannot be taken down Till every man, every woman, and every child Come together to take me down.” And I said, “But I cannot bear your cry— What can I do?” And he said “Go about the world, Telling everyone you meet ‘There is a man upon the cross.’” The Excuse I go about the world Telling all the rich, And all the happy, and all the comfortable, “There is a man upon the cross.” But they all say “We are sure you are mistaken; There was a man upon the cross Two thousand years ago; But he died, and was taken down And was decently buried; And a miracle happened, So that he rose again And ascended into Heaven, And is happy evermore.” Still I go about the world saying “There is a man upon the cross.” The Cross