The old sweet mythos, as friend Browning says, has been rediscovered. We are more wonderful than we thought. We are carrying about in our compassed personalities all dreams and imaginings. What avails the modernity of elevators and skyscrapers! You, betrousered one, walking Michigan Avenue—in your psyche are the ancient Hindus and the dancing sun-worshippers. You with the hand-bag and that 1916 model frock, do you truly think you are thinking in terms of American asphalted Chicago? Indeed! It was the symbolism of the Eleusinian mysteries that was used in the image which flashed into your mind just then. How was it recreated? Heaven knows—or Dr. Jung! And in your dreams, when the censor is quite off guard—how did you, prosaic being, become suddenly the wildest of poets? The average man—by that I mean the average man of cultivation—is not at all cognizant yet of the large significance of the psycho-analytic studies. He thinks them some libidinous sex-stuff come out of Germany, or perhaps one of the many new methods to be tried on the insane and the neurotic. Their immense import for the normal (whatever _he_ is!) he has not yet understood. It will take perhaps another five years, for the discoveries of psycho-analysis to penetrate the popular consciousness. Perhaps less—for some Augustus Thomas (God save us from such!) may before then write a play about it. A Dyptich SKIPWITH CANNELL Wonder Song No man who borrows Should return the exact debt; Let him return more, Or let him return less. I borrowed twelve dollars From a rich uncle of mine: I paid him back a hundred’s worth of poetry. He is not satisfied. I am not forgotten. I borrowed from a stranger An old coat full of lice; The cloth became strong serge, The lice became buttons. The stranger Wanted his old coat back again, He got an old joke instead And went away laughing. I gave my God some second-hand prayers, Prayers that were used and fingered and worn; In return He gave me My heart’s desire. I gave my God all the love that’s in me.... He put it in His pocket, Absently, With talk of the weather: He’s a wise God, knowing His own worth. No one who borrows Should make exact payment; If he does as I say He’ll be remembered forever. Scorn I will not lay bricks for the homes of other men; I prefer to fell trees in the forest, To fell them and let them lie. If I go to the forests, I will starve; If I lay bricks for those others, They will feed me soup and black bread and onions. I will fell trees Angrily, And I will let them lie. The Deeper Scorn