Contents -BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD

Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.

Landscapes

By Louis Untermeyer

THE RAIN was over, and the brilliant air

Made every little blade of grass appear

Vivid and startling—everything was there

With sharpened outlines, eloquently clear,

As though one saw it in a crystal sphere.

The rusty sumac with its struggling spires;

The golden-rod with all its million fires

(A million torches swinging in the wind);

A single poplar, marvellously thinned,

Half like a naked boy, half like a sword;

Clouds, like the haughty banners of the Lord;

A group of pansies with their shrewish faces,

Little old ladies cackling over laces;

The quaint, unhurried road that curved so well;

The prim petunias with their rich, rank smell;

The lettuce-birds, the creepers in the field—

How bountifully were they all revealed!

How arrogantly each one seemed to thrive—

So frank and strong, so radiantly alive!

And over all the morning-minded earth

There seemed to spread a sharp and kindling mirth,

Piercing the stubborn stones until I saw

The toad face heaven without shame or awe,

The ant confront the stars, and every weed

Grow proud as though it bore a royal seed;

While all the things that die and decompose

Sent forth their bloom as richly as the rose.…

Oh, what a liberal power that made them thrive

And keep the very dirt that died, alive.

And now I saw the slender willow-tree

No longer calm or drooping listlessly,

Letting its languid branches sway and fall

As though it danced in some sad ritual;

But rather like a young, athletic girl,

Fearless and gay, her hair all out of curl,

And flying in the wind—her head thrown back,

Her arms flung up, her garments flowing slack,

And all her rushing spirits running over.…

What made a sober tree seem such a rover—

Or made the staid and stalwart apple-trees,

That stood for years knee-deep in velvet peace,

Turn all their fruit to little worlds of flame,

And burn the trembling orchard there below?

What lit the heart of every golden-glow—

Oh, why was nothing weary, dull, or tame?…

Beauty it was, and keen, compassionate mirth

That drives the vast and energetic earth.

And, with abrupt and visionary eyes,

I saw the huddled tenements arise.

Here where the merry clover danced and shone

Sprang agonies of iron and of stone;

There, where green Silence laughed or stood enthralled,

Cheap music blared and evil alleys sprawled.

The roaring avenues, the shrieking mills;

Brothels and prisons on those kindly hills—

The menace of these things swept over me;

A threatening, unconquerable sea.…

A stirring landscape and a generous earth!

Freshening courage and benevolent mirth—

And then the city, like a hideous sore.…

Good God, and what is all this beauty for?