Have you seen the sudden brilliant leap of a flame sometimes before it finally goes out? There was the same sort of spurt in that past performance. I had seen Robertson play Hamlet a year ago; in Brooklyn a week before I had watched him wearily play his part, and by the comparison I understood the effort involved in the brilliancy of his playing that day. There was a heart-bursting poignancy about his swan song. I cried with the Queen: “Oh Hamlet, thou hast cleft my heart in twain!” And when at the end of it all he sat there on the throne of Denmark with that unforgettable look, purged from all the suffering and weariness; and when they bore him off to the music of Tchaikovsky’s _Dead March_, what could a feeling mortal do but—but—I cannot tell what I did. “The rest is silence.” “Good night, sweet prince.” Amber Monochrome MARK TURBYFILL I pass Outside into the amber night. A lamp within Prints shadow-flowers On the stiffness of an amber screen. My dream is like that— An amber scheme Straining through cold, stiff screens. Three Imagist Poets JOHN GOULD FLETCHER I. The question is being asked, re-asked and debated, What is Imagism? The fact that this question is constantly raised anew proves that it is not an academic one. For if we are to see clearly the underlying principles of the new poetry, and to understand the relationship of the group which call themselves the Imagists to those principles, we must first disassociate Imagism, strictly speaking, from all that body of verse now being produced in the free-verse forms. As a critic not long ago pointed out, vers libre and Imagism are not to be confused. Vers libre can be produced and has been produced which is not Imagistic, but realistic, symbolistic, or merely dull. Imagism is an attitude of mind which can appear just as well under the guise of metre and rhyme, or prose, as in verse itself. What, then, is Imagism?