I hug the smooth bark of stately red pillars And with cones carefully scattered I mark the progression of dark dial-shadows Flung diagonally downwards through the afternoon. This turf is not like turf: It is a smooth dry carpet of velvet, Embroidered with brown patterns of needles and cones. These trees are not like trees: They are innumerable feathery pagoda-umbrellas, Stiffly ungracious to the wind, Teetering on red-lacquered stems. In the evening I listen to the winds’ lisping, While the conflagrations of the sunset flicker and clash behind me, Flamboyant crenelations of glory amid the charred ebony boles. In the night the fiery nightingales Shall clash and trill through the silence: Like the voices of mermaids crying From the sea. Long ago has the moon whelmed this uncompleted temple. Stars swim like gold fish far above the black arches. Far let the timid feet of dawn fly to catch me: I will abide in this forest of pines: For I have unveiled naked beauty, And the things that she whispered to me in the darkness, Are buried deep in my heart. Now let the black tops of the pine-trees break like a spent wave, Against the grey sky: These are tombs and memorials and temples and altars sunkindled for me. The Case of French Poetry RICHARD ALDINGTON It is with a feeling of regret and astonishment that I find nearly all my English confrères so opposed to the spirit of French culture, so mistaken in their views, and so curiously ignorant of the real facts of the development of modern French literature. I am led to this reflection by reading Mr. Shanks’s excellent article in your December number. It is a most ungracious task to criticise a man who is about to hazard his life in the service of his country; and I honor Mr. Shanks more than I can express. But if I felt as Mr. Shanks does on the subject of French and German poetry I would not fight at all or I would fight for Germany! To a poet poetry must be the great business of life and, speaking for myself, I would emphatically support the Germans if I thought they were better poets than the French and English! (You will take that rhetorical statement for what it is worth.)