EDITORIAL NOTE TO POETRY

sprang so glib From the cliff and broke a rib: From my frame my soul went free, Yes, escaped me through that rib. "Little Angel" call they me— Then my soul, like cat in flight Straight did on this ship alight Swiftly bounding—one, two, three! Yes, its claws are swift to smite. "Little Angel" call they me!— Now a ship, but once a girl, Ah, and still too much a girl! My steering-wheel, so bright to see, For sake of love alone doth whirl. MAIDEN'S SONG Yesterday with seventeen years Wisdom reached I, a maiden fair, I am grey-haired, it appears, Now in all things—save my hair. Yesterday, I had a thought, Was't a thought?—you