Part 1 — THE ART OF "POETRY."

FROM "TOWN TOPICS."

I ask not much! but let th' "dank wynd" moan, "Shimmer th' woold" and "rive the wanton surge;" I ask not much; grant but an "eery drone," Some "wilding frondage" and a "bosky dirge;" Grant me but these, and add a regal flush Of "sundered hearts upreared upon a byre;" Throw in some yearnings and a "darksome hush," And—asking nothing more—I'll smite th' lyre.

Yea, I will smite th' falt'ring, quiv'ring strings, And magazines shall buy my murky stunts; Too long I've held my hand to honest things, Too long I've borne rejections and affronts; Now will I be profound and recondite, Yea, working all th' symbols and th' "props;" Now will I write of "morn" and "yesternight;" Now will I gush great gobs of soulful slops.

Yea, I will smite! Grant me but "swerveless wynd," And I will pipe a cadence rife with thrills; With "nearness" and "foreverness" I'll bind A "downflung sheaf" of outslants, paeans and trills; Pass me th' "quenchless gleam of Titian hair," And eke th' "oozing forest's woozy clumps;" Now will I go upon a metric tear And smite th' lyre with great resounding thumps.