EDITORIAL NOTE TO POETRY

Die? Nay, nay, I cannot die! THE NEW COLUMBUS³⁵ "Dearest," said Columbus, "never Trust a Genoese again. At the blue he gazes ever, Distance doth his soul enchain. Strangeness is to me too dear— Genoa has sunk and passed— Heart, be cool! Hand, firmly steer! Sea before me: land—at last? Firmly let us plant our feet, Ne'er can we give up this game— From the distance what doth greet? One death, one happiness, one fame. IN LONESOMENESS³⁶ The cawing crows Townwards on whirring pinions roam; Soon come the snows— Thrice happy now who hath a home! Fast-rooted there, Thou gazest backwards—oh,