Contents -BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD

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

Supernal Dialogue

Harriet Monroe

Two beings

Stood on the edge of things—

Their breath was space,

And their eyes were suns.

IIT was this way he passed—

I know the sound.

IIMore worlds—

He can not forbear—

ILook down this lane—

It was dark till he passed.

Do you see—anything?

IISeeds of light—glowing, whirling—

A handful.

ISeparating now.

IIFierce fire-balls—

So many—so many. Will he get what he wants—

The perfect flower?

IFlower of delight—to bloom beside his throne?

Sometime he will.
[A pause]

ILook—that little one—

Burning, aching—

Trailing its tiny orbs—

IIWhich one?

ISee—scarlet—oh, alive!

Deep in that right-hand cluster near the dark.

IIWith tiny trailers—will it be one of them?

That clouded one, maybe?

ILook—it foams down.

The clouds lift—

There are seas—

IILands—a creeping green—

Sounds of air moving.

IHush—oh, whisper!—do you see

Dark specks that crawl?

And wings that flash in the air?

IISpawn—immeasurably minute.

What does he mean, the fecund one, creating without reason or mercy?

IHe must—life is his song.

He dreams—he wills.

IIWatch now—they change, those atoms.

They stand on end—they lay stone on stone—

They go clad—they utter words.

IProud—they take their spoil.

Kings—and slaves.

IIOh queer—ingenious! They gather in towns,

They filch our fires to carry them over land and sea.

IThey measure the stars—they love—they dream.

IIBut war—pain—obliterative war and pain.

ISo brief—each one a tiny puff—and out.

IIGrotesque!

IA few look up—salute us before they fall.

A few dare face him.

IIIs it enough?
[A pause]

IIt cools down—their whirling world.

It is silent—cold.

IIHas he lost again? Can he fail?

IWho are we to question? Though he fail again and again—

IIYes, who are we?

IHe must go on—he must get the flower.

Two beings

Stood on the edge of things—

Their breath was space,

And their eyes were suns.