EDITORIAL NOTE TO POETRY

Be thyself the rain of the parched wilderness! I once bade the clouds Depart from my mountains; Once I said to them, "More light, ye dark ones!" To-day I entice them to come: Make me dark with your udders: —I would milk you, Ye cows of the heights! Milk-warm wisdom, sweet dew of love I pour over the land. Away, away, ye truths That look so gloomy! I will not have on my mountains Bitter, impatient truths. May truth approach me to-day Gilded by smiles, Sweetened by the sun, browned by love,— A ripe truth I would fain break off from the tree. To-day I stretch my hands