Studying it again one finds new beauties—the delicacy of the occasional rhyme, used as a musician uses the flute in an orchestra, the curious “pattern” of the rhythm, which cannot be defined and yet fits the theme with inimitable grace; the unforgettable picture of the garden with its stiff paths, its white fountain, its carelessly gorgeous flowers, and the woman walking down the path with slow and stately tread. Her head is straight and high, pink and silver is her stiff brocaded gown, yet one knows that underneath it throbs a human heart for which there is no place in the pattern. Here is certainly a new way of conveying emotion. We are stirred by the passion of the poem up to its terrible climax—“Christ! what are patterns for?” A masterpiece this poem, one to learn and repeat and make one’s own. There follows by Miss Lowell _A Spring Day_ in polyphonic prose, a series of word pictures scintillating with color and dancing light. The day has five color divisions: the Bath, where “little spots of sunshine lie on the surface of the water and dance, and their reflections wabble deliciously over the ceiling”; the Breakfast Table, where golden coffee, yellow butter and silver and white make another symphony. Then comes the Walk, with more color, from boys with black and red, amber and blue marbles, “spitting crimson” when they are hit, to a man’s hat careering down the street in front of white dust “jarring the sunlight into spokes of rose-color and green.” Next comes Midday and Afternoon, then Night and Sleep. “Wrap me close, sheets of lavender. Pour your blue and purple dreams into my ears.... Pale blue lavender, you are the color of the sky when it is fresh-washed and fair.” Miss Lowell also includes her amazing paraphrase of Stravinsky’s _Grotesques_, too amazing for an unmusical person’s comment. Richard Aldington has seven poems. The finest is a short Elizabethan lyric named _After Two Years_. It is a lovely bit, but why it should be published in an “Imagist” collection no man may say. Its delicate beauty is indefinable. After Two Years She is all so slight And tender and white As a May morning. She walks without hood At dusk. It is good To hear her sing. It is God’s will That I shall love her still As He loves Mary. And night and day I will go forth to pray That she loves me. She is as gold Lovely, and far more cold. Do thou pray with me, For if I win grace To kiss twice her face God has done well to me. Aldington’s _Eros and Psyche_ has both beauty and distinction, but no one of the seven poems by him can compare with his _Choricos_ in the Anthology of 1915. That is an achievement not easily repeated.