Lyrics

By Louis K. Anspacher

LOUIS K. ANSPACHER, poet and playwright, whose most recent plays, "Our Children" and "The Unchastened Woman," have won recognition for him as one of the most original and powerful dramatists of the present day. Born in Cincinnati in 1878, and educated at City College of New York, and Columbia University (A.M., LL.B.), he occupied the vestry pulpit of Temple Emanu-El, New York, for several years, and has lectured on ethics and the drama. A volume of his poems, to be published soon, will show more completely the depth and resourcefulness of the lyric power revealed in the accompanying verses. The portrait is from an oil painting by Franzen.

Adam Prometheus

I

In olden books 'tis written,

That he that would discern

The secret'st truth of things

Lost paradise eterne.

He was the first that fed

On fruit that knowledge brings;

Exiled from joys, he fled

And flaming swords did burn

Behind his path, which led

To miseries.

II

Great God, vouchsafe me truth:

For I am one that smitten

With the deep mystery of things,

In learned lore uncouth,

Out of pure wonder sings

In harmonies.

III

Great God, forfend the tooth

Of deep remorse, and stings

Of joys that I did spurn:

Oh, spare the gnawing ruth

Of memories' torturings,

Yea proudly did I turn

From earth to snatch at wings

To soar and ne'er return

To life's lees.

IV

Great God, I too am cursed;

A destiny from birth,

Of all dread fates the worst,

Drives me unrestful, flings

Me from my Eden bliss,

Over a barren earth,

To impious search for things

Whose heart is an abyss.

I too am one that clings.

In lust for a knowledge kiss,

Upon my knees.

V

Great God, I've given o'er

My paradise of ease,

Allowed my soul to soar

To mysteries high or deep

At the world's core;

Oh, quench its ardent thirst,

Its hunger, God, appease:—

Or if Thou dost ignore

The soul that Thou hast nursed,

Then smite me as I leap,

And let Thy rages roar

On me as in the first

That fell on sulphur seas.

Yea, down Hell's sliffy steep

Thy molten lightnings pour

Till darkness be immersed;

Yet know I will not creep

Though all Thy thunders burst

In penalties.

My Psalm of Life

I cannot grow as men would have me grow,

By ordered plodding to a life complete;

Climbing the path with slow and heavy beat

Of tedious footsteps from the world below.

I cannot like a visible circle flow

Until by measured compass I can meet

The place I started from with weary feet.

That proudly point the obvious path they go.

Ah no,—mine be the instinct given to trust

That all will in the outcome fall aright.

Like a migrant swan still wandering since I must,

I'll fill a life's full cycle in my flight:

Though I soar into the clouds or sink to dust,

My orb will come around; I'll reach my height.

The Vocal Memnon to the Sphynx

The sands of time drift round me, and within

There is the knell of passing and decay:

The sun-smit vastness of the world doth weigh

Upon my riddling soul like hidden sin,

And bids it speak. Thou desert art my kin!

I crumble to thee, waning day by day;

But I am cursed with questions that betray

The end of life before death's hours begin,

My eyes are staring, yet their sight is blind.

My ears are hollow, yet they hear no sound.

My knees are buried and my body sinks.

The stars weave fates that they themselves unwind,

Traversing the same cycles round and round;

While I sit gazing at the silent Sphynx.