I sit in a boat and think of life and time How life is much, but time is more And the beginning is everything But the.end is something.
So carolled ''Q'? many years ago in imitation of Walt Whitman, and the parody was deemed clever enough to be admitted to the critical columns of the "Oxford Magazine." It would seem, then, that vers libre is not quite so new a form of art. as its admirers would have us believe. On the other hand it is evidently capable of far richer _varie'y than Walt, Whitman ever dreamed of—as witness this exquisite specimen from one of the youngest, most daring, most soulful of our free versifers Silence broods Like a prophetess Over the Pentonville Road Suddenly a cry as of A creature In pain, Bloody Bin With the thin edge Of a wedge 7 Has murdered his wife Again, Is it genuine? Or is it a perfect parody of one of the most preposterous parades of rubbish that ever imposed itself on the world as an expression of art? We shall know when the local admirers of vers Ubre begin to write us indignant letters.
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.