_I_ know a dancer Who finds the true God-head; Who bends o'er a brazier In Heaven's clear plain. _I_ know a dancer, _I_ know a dancer, Who lifts us toward peace From this Earth that is vain:-- Judith the dancer, Judith the dancer, With foot like the snow, And with step like the rain. The Dream of the Children The children awoke in their dreaming While earth lay dewy and still: They followed the rill in its gleaming To the heart-light of the hill. From their feet as they strayed in the meadow It led through caverned aisles, Filled with purple and green light and shadow For mystic miles on miles. --_From A. E.'s Collected Poems._ The Critics' Critic GALSWORTHY AS A GREEK Do you read Arthur Guiterman's rhymed reviews? They are not to be taken too seriously, of course, though they are generally sane; but in the one on _The Dark Flower_ he asks if such things don't tend to weaken our moral fiber! Wow! Probably Homer might be said to do the same thing; we'd better take it out of the schools, hadn't we? There's an episode I recall about a female person named Helen, who was torn from her adoring husband, etc., etc. You know I don't believe in weakening moral fiber, but beauty _is_ beauty. All I could think of, in reading _The Dark Flower_, was Greek classics. Do you remember that exquisite thing (is it Euripides?)-- "This Cyprian She is a million, million changing things; She brings more joy than any god, She brings More pain. I cannot judge her; may it be An hour of mercy when she looks on me." Galsworthy's hero was just a Greek, swayed by Aphrodite. There's no question of morals. And besides, he behaved pretty well--for a man! THE CASE OF RUPERT BROOKE I can't share THE LITTLE REVIEW'S estimate of Rupert Brooke. I'm reminded immediately of something I found not long ago by Herbert Trench: "Come, let us make love deathless, thou and I, Seeing that our footing on the earth is brief, Seeing that her multitudes sweep out to die Mocking at all that passes their belief. For standard of our love not theirs we take If we go hence today Fill the high cup that is so soon to break With richer wine than they. Ay, since beyond these walls no heavens there be, Joy to revive or wasted youth repair, I'll not bedim the lovely flame in thee Nor sully the sad splendor that we wear. Great be the love, if with the lover dies Our greatness past recall; And nobler for the fading of those eyes The world seen once for all." Swinburne's "From too much love of living, From hope and fear set free"