Vol. VII THE TEXAS REVIEW OCTOBER, 1921 No. 1 Entered as second-class matter June 7, 1915, at the postoffice at EDITOR, Robert Adger Law. MANAGING EDITOR, Miles L. Hanley CONTRIBUTORS TO THE OCTOBER NUMBER BERNARDINE ALGERT is a Californian who has not contributed to the Review heretofore. EDA LOU WALTON of California wrote several poems for the Review of October, 1920. JAY B. HUBBELL is professor of English in Southern Methodist University, Dallas, and is a native of North Carolina. CLYDE CHEW GLASCOCK is a professor of romance languages in Rice Institute, Houston. A. J. MORRISON of Washington, D. C., is a well-known contributor to the Review. STANLEY T. WILLIAMS, assistant professor of English in Yale University, has written several essays on Victorian literature for this Journal. L. W. PAYNE, JR., Professor of English in the University of Texas, had edited several text-books on American literature. KARLE WILSON BAKER of Nacogdoches, Texas, is already well known to readers of the Review and other periodicals. B. H. LEHMAN is a professor in the University of California. Blue waters, blue waters, And glint of shining flake, One last breath of sandalwood Clinging in her wake. Oh, wild geese in the West are dipping; The street-light glows Through all your swathed linen folds And in the dusk your deep eyes make appeal That you are lost Poor Ghost! How gay you are, Poor Fiend! Yet boredom shows Reply In every leathern smile your wan face holds; Poor Fiend! To Common-Sense I will return As surely as lie Three pale stars, panting Against the Autumn sky In the faint light When gold leaves sigh Down to the hungry grass Below, perhaps so I, Some time. O, later call When streams and youth are dry. In shadowy reaches I would My winged feet try Awhile. When Warriors Die The long meadow is wet with dew, And purple stars hang heavily But the river is silent And the canoe rocks, empty. Sumach blazes amongst gray rocks, There is not a little cloud in all the aching And the wind has died. Cease your weaving, O weaver of baskets, Fling the firebrand far out into the circling waters. And rivers say nothing. |