The wind that drives the fine dry sand Across the strand: The sad wind spinning arabesques With a wrinkled hand. Labyrinths of shifting sand, The dancing dunes! I will arise and run with the sand, And gather it greedily in my hand: I will wriggle like a long yellow snake over the beaches. I will lie curled up, sleeping, And the wind shall chase me Far inland. My breath is the music of the mad wind; Shrill piping, stamping of drunken feet, The fluttering, tattered broidery flung Over the dunes’ steep escarpments. The fine dry sand that whistles Down the long low beaches. _Sand and Spray: A Sea-Symphony_ comprises the second part of Mr. Fletcher’s volume. This symphony has much of the movement and variety of music. In manner it resembles many of the “Irradiations,” and it is just as well worth reading. Certainly there will be many who will not like Mr. Fletcher’s work. Dogs will always bark at a new fragrance. _Japanese Lyrics, translated by Lafcadio Hearn. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company._ Readers of Lafcadio Hearn will recall the many translations of Japanese _haikai_ poetry which are scattered through his writings. Those translations have been collected in the present volume. They are delicate whisps of thought, tantalizingly suggestive, most of them confined to a sentence. Here are some of them: If with my sleeve I hide the faint fair color of the dawning sun,— then, perhaps, in the morning, my lord will remain. Perched upon the temple-bell, the butterfly sleeps: Even while sleeping, its dream is of play—ah, the butterfly of the grass! Many insects there are that call from the dawn to evening, Crying “I love! I love!”—but the Firefly’s silent passion, Making its body burn, is deeper than all their longing. Even such is my love .... The following poem, says the editor, was written more than eleven hundred years ago on the death of the poet’s little son: As he is so young, he cannot know the way. .... To the messenger of the Underworld I will give a bribe, and entreat him, saying: “Do thou kindly take the little one upon thy back along the road.” Some discerning persons have asserted that “Imagism” is derived from _haikai_ or _hokku_ poetry. We shall leave to them the pleasant futility of discussing that theory. They may eventually discover that they are building on the shaky premise that “Imagism” exists other than as a clever word. _The Winnowing Fan, by Laurance Binyon. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company._