Charles G. (Charles Granger) Blanden.

The Chicago anthology; a collection of verse from the work of Chicago poets online

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Chicago Anthology


Selected and Arranged by

With an Introduction by LLEWELON JONES









For suggestions and assistance in collecting material
for this book, the editors express their appreciation
and sincere thanks to Mr. Llewellyn Jones, Mr. "Waldo
Browne, Mr. Wallace Rice, Mr. Henry Legler, Mr.
Ernest McGaffey and Mr. Scharmel Iris. They are
grateful to the various poets represented in the
volume for their co-operation and kind permission to
make use of the poems selected ; to the publishers and
magazine editors for permission to use copyright
material. Acknowledgment is hereby made for per-
mission to print the copyrighted poems enumerated
below :

To Messrs. Doubleday, Page & Co., for "The
Fool" and "Gilbert," by Franklin P. Adams, and
for "The Heart's Country" and "The Slain Ones,"
by Florence Wilkinson.

To the Bobbs-Merrill Co., for " 'Long de Kanka-
kee," from "The Ballads of Bourbonnais, " by Wai-
lace Bruce Amsbary, copyright 1904 ; used by special
permission of the publishers.

To The Brothers of the Book for "Once on a
Time," "Beyond" and " Unconquered, " by Ken-
dall Banning.

To Poetry : A Magazine of Verse, for ' l Our Daily
Bread," by Rita Benton; for "A Man to a Dead
Woman," by Maxwell Bodenheim; for "America"
and "0 World," by Alice Corbin; for "To One Un-
known," by Helen Dudley; for excerpts from "The

Grotesques," by Cloyd Head; for "A Statue in a
Garden," by Agnes Lee; for "The Tower," "The
Inner Silence," "Love Song" and "The Giant Cac-
tus of Arizona," by Harriet Monroe; for "Who
Loves the Rain" and "Little Pagan Rain Song," by
Frances Shaw; for "The Bacchante to Her Babe,"
by Eunice Tietjens; for "Clover" and "April
Weather," by Edith Wyatt.

To Carrie Jacobs-Bond & Son, for "Song," by
Carrie Jacobs-Bond.

To Charles Scribner's Sons, for "Norway" from
"Idyls of Norway," by Hjalmar Hjorth Boyesen;
copyright 1882; and for "Garden and Cradle,"
"Nightfall in Dordrecht" and "Little Boy Blue,"
from "Poems of Eugene Field"; copyright 1910.

To Scribner's Magazine for "At Ease on Lethe
Wharf," by Helen Coale Crew.

To The Outlook, for "Sing, Ye Trenches," by
Helen Coale Crew.

To The Little Review for "Cantina" and "Under
the Cypresses," by Mitchell Dawson, and for "The
Rose Jar," by Mark Turbyfill.

To Everybody's Magazine, for "The Chicago
River," by Charlton L. Edholm.

To A. C. McClurg & Co., for "At Beach St.
Mary," by Frank W. Gunsaulus.

To Forbes & Co., for "The River St. Joe," by
Ben King.

To Houghton, Mifflin Co., for "Gloucester Moors,"
"On a Soldier Fallen in the Philippines" and "Har-
monics," by William Vaughn Moody; used by per-
mission of and by special arrangement with the


To the National Magazine, for "The Deed and
the Dream, ' J by James C. McNally.

To G. P. Putnam's Sons, for "Choice," by Myrtle

To Moffat, Yard & Company, for "The Dead
Leader, " from "Songs of Democracy, " by Charles
Edward Russell.

To Henry Holt & Co., for "Gone" and "Fog,"
by Carl Sandburg.

To the Century Magazine, for "The Last Guest,"
by Frances Shaw.

To The American Magazine for "At a Summer
Resort," by Brand Whitlock.

To Sherman, French & Co., for "The Present:
A Challenge" and "The Nonconformist," by Mar-
guerite Wilkinson.


A few years ago the title of the present book
would have beeni its sufficient introduction. But
recently many people have come to regard poetry
as a new industry with Chicago as its most busy dis-
tributing center. Five or ten years ago, these people
imagine, there was rhymed sentiment but not the
poetry to make such an anthology as this possible,
and now, they rejoice, we have reached the happy
point where we can have a Chicago Anthology. And,
they may continue, if its compilers know their busi-
ness, it will surely open with the magic phrase:
"Hog-butcher of the world,
Tool-maker, stacker of wheat . . . ' '

It is partly to mitigate the disappointment of
these people and partly to warn other readers against
the one-sided radicalism of this view of poetry as a
"slice of life" that this introduction is written. And
as I set about the task I am reminded of a most
trivial anecdote which clings to memory in virtue of
its jingles of words. Ben Jonson and Joshua Syl-
vester were engaging in a rhyming match:
"I, Sylvester,

Kissed your sister."

remarked Joshua (though there is a more Eliza-
bethan version), and Ben Jonson came back with:

"I, Ben Jonson, kissed your wife."
"That isn't rhyme," said Sylvester. "No, but it's
true," replied Ben.

Now it is undoubtedly true we have olfactory
and may obtain auditory evidence that Chicago is
the hog-butcher of the world, but whether that fact


can fittingly be lisped in numbers is another question.
In one way such, facts can. A vision that approaches
universality and a passion intense enough can fuse
the most recalcitrant facts of life into an imaginative
whole, and the more recalcitrant the elements are,
the more the artistic product approaches that highest
kind of beauty which has so intrigued philosophers
from the Greeks until today : the sublime.

But the poets of today use the elements of life
which are painful or tawdry for two other purposes,
one of which I think is poetically legitimate and the
other less so, if legitimate at all. I mean the gro-
tesque and the realistic. The former need not con-
cern us here. The latter is what a great many peo-
ple will expect in this anthology, firstly, because the
free verse writers have accustomed them to the idea
that realism is the note in present day poetry which
supersedes the sentimentalism of Victorian verse a
quality, by the way, in that verse, which they have
elected rightly enough to attack, but which was only
one vice amid many virtues they deny or ignore
and, secondly, because Chicago yields more realistic
themes than it does conventionally idealistic ones,
and the modernist tells us that the poet must reflect
his own surroundings and shun the empyrean as he
would the plague. In other words, the Chicago poet
must write about Chicago.

Well, we must confess that on first glance very few
of the poems in this volume appear to be about
Chicago. So it behooves their introducer to tell the
reader why. The answer, of course, is that the real-
ists are uttering a dangerous half truth when they
tell us that the poet must write about what he sees


with the corporeal eye. The only thing the poet, as
such, can write about is his own soul and this applies
just as much to the dramatic poet as to the lyric
singer. To utter that, however, is not merely to make
such affirmations as that in Henley's most popular
and far from best poem :

"I am the captain of my soul."

It is, rather, to express the relation between the
poet's personality and its environment. It is to
utilize imaginatively those elements, in the Lake coun-
try of England, in London, in Chicago, in the sea or
in the mountains, that express through their form or
their symbolism those emotions which would other-
wise lack expression and torture their possessor.
Realistic detail is therefore necessary some earthly
content but equally so is the reaction of the soul,
a reaction that is not necessarily stated in words,
whether they be the assertion that the poet is cap-
tain of his soul or that he wishes to God he was dead,
but which may be implicit in the associations of
ideas in the poem, in the adumbration of "old, un-
happy, far-off things" that the words of the poem
recall or, more subtly even, in the swell and ebb of
the rhythm. All good poetry, then, is, to use a phrase
from one of Francis Thompson's most self -revealing
and poignant poems, ' * a . . . Jacob 's ladder, pitched
between Heaven and Charing Cross."

Our Charing Crosses may badly need sweeping,
and poets with the social conscience will naturally
wish to call our sluggish attention to the fact. In so
doing the heavenly side of the equation may be
neglected for a time. But in the poetry which is not
only to move us today to action but which shall abide


with our children as a joy in itself when our social
chores are all done in that we find the poet's true
reason for being.

Have the poets, then, in this volume, done too much
justice to their individual heavens and not enough to
their Charing Crosses or their Dearborn Streets?
Should Francis Fisher Browne, who for more than
thirty years edited The Dial, which he founded in
Chicago, have anticipated Carl Sandburg and written
about the city which is the hog-butcher of the world ?
The few poems here printed are quite representative
of Mr. Browne and they deal with mountains and
dead heroes. Very disappointing, doubtless, to his
realist successors. But as a matter of fact they were
just as much inspired by Chicago as if they had been
written concerning stockyards. Only they were in-
spired by antithesis. Mr. Browne hated the crudity
and noise of Chicago's industrial life. He told the
writer once that the only way he could traverse Dear-
born Street on foot and keep his sanity was by shut-
ting out its roar and reciting to himself some of the
great number of poems he had committed to memory.
Surely some of the poems he created were born out
of that same distaste stimulating imaginative hunger
for the opposite of all this dust and wasted motion.

It is easy to sneer at this attitude toward art,
to call it a cowardly climbing into an ivory tower,
and to quote Milton on the fugitive and cloistered
virtue that never sees its adversary face to face but
slinks from out the race where that immortal garland
is to be run for, not without dust and heat.

But the answer is equally easy. Men like Mr.
Browne have not slunk from out that race. The edi-


tor of The Dial, in "real" life, was a frontiersman.
He planted his standard of literary evaluation in
Chicago when the place was a cultural wilderness,
and he poured both his money and his health into
his missionary endeavor. Such service as that is all
that practical life can ask. Having given it, the soul
is free from life's limitations and has earned its
right to the ivory tower or to the stars.

It would be invidious to mention by name other
contributors, although something of what we have
said about Mr. Browne applies to the late William
Vaughn Moody. Chicago inspired more of his poetry
than mentions Chicago and any reader of his de-
lightful letters may find out just how this inspiration
was given.

But a word should be said of the more "modern-
ist" poetry in this volume. What has been said
above sounds "conservative." And just as Miss
Harriet Monroe, on account of her advocacy of
Imagism and free verse in "Poetry" has achieved
the reputation of printing nothing but free verse
and Imagism when as a matter of fact, the greater
part of the space she devotes to verse is given to the
orthodox metrical forms so we may achieve the
reputation of having represented the old poetry of
Chicago and of having ignored the new v To speak
of only one modernist represented in these pages
(and he is mentioned because his work is more liable
to misunderstanding than some other of the newer
poetry) we may point to the inclusion of part of
Mr. Cloyd Head's "Grotesques" as a refutation of
the possible charge. Mr. Head's work is essentially
modernist in that it represents a grappling of poetry


with a new problem. Unlike the Imagists, who are a
reversion to an older type, or most of the free verse
writers, he has really tried to express a modern man's
feeling in a modern way. The result is imperfect, it
makes hard reading sometimes, it gives us a cloudi-
ness but there is a living flame behind the smoke.
And it is that that counts.

Our dreams are the oldest part of us

". . . . tales

Told in dim Eden by Eve's nightingales."
and they are the most forward looking part of us
as well, and so true poetry is never out of date. The
amount of such poetry, as opposed to mere verse, that
will be found in this volume is greater than I expected
when I heard of its projection. Its compilers have
done the art of poetry and the poets of Chicago sig-
nal service in rescuing this representative collection
from the oblivion that would have befallen some of
it and the lack of general appreciation that would
have befallen perhaps the best of it. When most of
our newly awakened interest in poetry is being given
to the topical and experimental verse of the day, this
reminder of the wealth of older poetry is timely.
The true lover of the art will hold a just balance
between that new and the old which he may here
sample. And if the reader wishes to be quite im-
partial, will he please refrain from imagining that
because the writer of this introduction has used the
opening phrase of his friend Carl Sandburg's fam-
ous Chicago poem as a sort of whipping horse, that
he is not appreciative of the sterling literary and the
sterling human qualities that give us Mr. Sandburg's
poignant pictures of the life of this inspiring city ?
September, 1916. 16 Llewellyn Jones.



Gloucester Moors, William Vaughn Moody 23

The Jew to Jesus, Florence Kiper Frank 26

Out of the Past, Edwin Preston Dargan 26

"At Ease on Lethe Wharf ," Helen Coale Crew 27

Kinship, Angela Morgan 28

A Song for a Man, Emerson Hough 29

Our Daily Bread, Rita Benton 31

A Girl Strike-Leader, Florence Kiper Frank 32

The Cycle, Louise Ayres Garnett 33

The Deed and the Dream, James C. McNally 33

An Answer, Francis Clement Kelley 34

In Poverty Street, Elliott Flower 35

At a Summer Resort, Brand Whitlock 37

The Doubt, Florence Kiper Frank 37

Out of the Gloom, 8. E. Kiser 37

Unmasked, George Horton 38

The Uncharted Quest, Charles J. O'Malley 38

Room ! Angela Morgan 39

Heredity, Lydia Avery Coonley Ward 42

The Man With the Hoe : A Reply, John Vance Cheney . . 42

The Nonconformist, Marguerite Wilkinson 45

The Tower, Harriet Monroe 45

The Last Guest, Frances Shaw 46

Ad Finem, Charles G. Blanden 47

Your Millennium, Agness Greene Foster 47

The Road to Anywhere, Bert Leston Taylor 47

Returning Spring, Minna Mathison 48

Morning Hymn to the Skokie, Anne Higginson Spicer. . . 49

The Blue Gale, Martin Schutze 51

Sunrise Upon the Ocean, George Horton 51

From Plain to Peak, Hamlin Garland 52

Song, William 8. Lord 53

In March, Carrie Collins Reed 53

April, Scharmel Iris 54



April Weather, Edith Wyatt 54

Do You Fear the Wind, Hamlin Garland 55

The Bobolink's Song, Stanley Waterloo 55

The White-Throat, Bert Leston Taylor 57

'Long de Kankakee, Wallace Bruce Amsbary 58

Clover, Edith Wyatt 59

Sweet Clover, Wallace Rice 60

Barberries, Mary Aldis 61

Tuberose, Louis James Block 62

Water Lilies, William 8. Lord 63

A Tribute of Grasses, Hamlin Garland 63

Silver Birches, Bert Leston Taylor 64

While Lilacs Bloom, Charles Wesley Anderson 65

Wayside Flowers, Thomas Curtis Clark 66

June, Clara Doty Bates 66

Under the Blue, Francis Fisher Browne 66

With a Spray of Apple Blossoms, Walter Learned 67

Under the Cypresses, Mitchell Dawson 68

The Trees, John McGovern 68

The Giant Cactus of Arizona, Harriet Monroe 69

A Hopi Pastoral, Harrison Conrard 70

On Elwha's Rugged Shore, Charles Eugene Banks 71

Who Loves the Rain, Frances Shaw 72

Little Pagan Rain Song, Frances Shaw 73

A Mood, Vincent Starrett 73

After Rain, Douglas Malloch 74

Fog, Carl Sandburg 75

The Wren, George F. Butler 75

The Dragon Fly, Thomas Wood Stevens 75

A Little Green Isle, Douglas Malloch 76

Shadows, Charles G. Blanden 78

America, Alice Corbin 78

Under the Stars, Wallace Rice 79

Illinois ! Frederick M. Steele 80

Chicago : An Ode, Wallace Rice 83

The Chicago River, Charlton L. Edholm 85

The River St. Joe, Ben King 86

At Beach St. Mary, Frank W. Gunsaulus 87



On Little Traverse Bay, Brand Whitlock 88

At Eagle Bluff, Howard Mumford Jones 89

Tennessee, Francis Brooks 91

Santa Barbara, Francis Fisher Broivne 91

At Windermere, Bertha H. Blake 92

Spring in England, Mattie Balch Loring 94

A Song for Ireland, Florence Kiper Frank 95

Norway, Hjalmar Hjorth Boyesen 95

A Ballade of Old Fancies, Charles Alden NoUe 97

Presage, Scharmel Iris 98

The Bacchante to Her Babe, Eunice Tietjcns 99

Garden and Cradle, Eugene Field 101

To a Child, Frank Putnam 102

The Eyes of a Child, Agness Greene Foster 103

Little Boy Blue, Eugene Field 103

De Witch 'Ooman, Fenton Johnson 104

Dance of Youth, Julia Cooley 105

Gone, Carl Sandburg 107

The Dead Leader, Charles Edward Russell 107

To F. F. B., Waldo R. Browne 109

David Swing, Helen Ekin Starrett 110

Daniel Webster, William Cleaver Wilkinson 110

The Grave of Cooper, George 8. Seymour Ill

Elia, E. J. McPhelim 112

Samuel Langhorne Clemens, Wilbur D. Nesbit 113

Father Maturin, Francis Clement Kelley 115

To Rubinstein, John McGovern 115

Gilbert, Franklin P. Adams 116

Rosamund Marriott Watson, Waldo R. Browne 116

The Poet, Yone Noguchi 117

Burns's Century Song, Benjamin F. Taylor 118

Saint Brandan, Rufus J. Childress 120

Parsifal, William Morton Payne 120

Tristan and Isolde, William Morton Payne 121

Hiram Powers' Greek Slave, Hiram Powers Dilworth. . .121

The Solitude of the Soul, James Taft Hat field 122

To Maurice Browne (On his creation of Capulchard in
Cloyd Head's "Grotesque") Mary Aldis 123



Once on a Time, Kendall Banning 124

Cantina, Mitchell Dawson 125

Love's Miracle, William Morton Payne 125

Song, James Vila Blake 126

Philomel to Corydon, William Young 126

The Fashion, Lydia Avery Coonlcy Ward 127

Love Song, Harriet Monroe 128

Chiquita, La Bonita, William Lightfoot Visscher 128

Arab, Donald Robertson 129

Song, Carrie Jacobs-Bond 130

Choice, Myrtle Reed 131

A Man to a Dead Woman, Maxwell Bodenheim 131

The Present : A Challenge, Marguerite Wilkinson 132

The Heart's Country, Florence Wilkinson 133

Last Love, Kenneth Sawyer Goodman 133

A Deserted Trysting Place, Susan Warren Wilbur 134

Beyond, Kendall Banning 135

A Pirate Song, Alden Charles Noble 135

Paul Jones, William A. Pheton 136

War, Henry Dumont 138

Mothers of Men at War, Ethel M. Colson 138

Sing. Ye Trenches! Helen Coale Crew 140

When My Turn Comes, Barrett Eastman 141

The Slain Ones, Florence Wilkinson 142

Vanquished, Francis Fisher Browne 143

On a Soldier Fallen in the Philippines, William Vaughn

Moody 144

After the Martyrdom, Scharmel Iris 145

Genius, John McGovern 146

The Inner Silence, Harriet Monroe 146

Invocation, Bert Lesion Taylor 147

To One Unknown, Helen Dudley 147

In Memory, Burton Haseltine 148

The Fool, Franklin P. Adams 149

Sonnet, Horace Spencer Fiske 149

Wealth, Thomas Curtis Clark 150

Symbols, Vance Thompson 150

The Miracle, Clara Doty Bates 151



Memories After Death, Carrie Collins Reed 152

The Rose Jar, Mark Turbyfill 153

A Statue in a Garden, Agnes Lee 154

The Sea's Daughter, Kenneth Sawyer Goodman 154

To an Anaesthetic, Bertha F. Gordon 155

The Old House, Grace Duffle Boylan 155

Two Houses, Agnes Lee 156

Coming Home, E. Sewell Hill 157

Mother, Blanche Fearing 160

The Mart, Henry Dumont 160

Ambition, Salena S. Martin 160

O World, Alice Coroin 161

The World, Roy O. Randall 161

A Sabbath Morn, George F. Butler 162

The Best Day, 8. E. Kiser 162

Time, Williston Fish 163

Euthanasia, Frances Ekin Allison 165

Adieu, Minnie Garner Ranney 165

If I Should Wake, Emily Huntington Miller 166

Approach of Night, Charles G. Blanden 166

Darkness and Light, Henry Dumont 167

Columns of Evening, Maxwell Bodenheim 168

Nightfall, Martin Schutze 168

Nightfall in Dordrecht, Eugene Field 169

At Midnight, A. W. Macy 170

Unconquered, Kendall Banning 170

Harmonics, William Vaughn Moody 171

The Happiest Heart, John Vance Cheney 171

Judas' Apostrophe to Christ on the Cross, (From "The

King of the Jews") Maurice Browne 172

Selection from "The Grotesques," Cloyd Head 176



A mile behind is Gloucester town,

Where the fishing fleets put in,
A mile ahead the land dips down

And the woods and farms begin.
Here, where the moors stretch free

In the high blue afternoon,
Are the marching sun and talking sea,
And the racing winds that wheel and flee

On the flying heels of June.

Jill-o 'er-the-ground is purple blue,

Blue is the quaker-maid,
The wild geranium holds its dew

Long in the boulder's shade.
Wax-red hangs the cup

From the huckleberry boughs,
In barberry bells the grey moths sup
Or where the choke-cherry lifts high up

Sweet bowls for their carouse.

Over the shelf of the sandy cove

Beach-peas blossom late.
By copse and cliff the swallows rove,

Each calling to his mate.
Seaward the sea-gulls go,

And the land-birds all are here;
That green-gold flash was a vireo,
And yonder flame where the marsh-flags grow

Was a scarlet tanager.

This earth is not the steadfast place
We landsmen build upon;


From deep to deep she varies pace,

And while she comes is gone.
Beneath my feet I feel

Her smooth bulk heave and dip ;
With velvet plunge and soft upreel
She swings and steadies to her keel

Like a gallant, gallant ship.

These summer clouds she sets for sail,

The sun is her masthead light,
She tows the moon like a pinnace frail

Where her phosphor wake churns bright.
Now hid, now looming clear,

On the face of the dangerous blue
The star fleets tack and wheel and veer,
But on, but on does the old earth steer

As if her port she knew.

God, dear God ! Does she know her port,

Though she goes so far about?
Or blind astray, does she make her sport

To brazen and chance it out?
I watched when her captains passed:

She were better captainless.
Men in the cabin, before the mast,
But some were reckless and some aghast,

And some sat gorged at mess.

By her battened hatch I leaned and caught
Sounds from the noisome hold,

Cursing and sighing of souls distraught
And cries too sad to be told.


Then I strove to go down and see;

But they said, "Thou art not of us!"
I turned to those on the deck with me
And cried, ' ' Give help ! ' ' But they said, ' ' Let be

Our ship sails faster thus."

Jill-o'er-the-ground is purple blue,

Blue is the quaker-maid,
The alder-clump where the brook comes through

Breeds cresses in its shade.
To be out of the moiling street

With its swelter and its sin!
Who has given to me this sweet,
And given my brother dust to eat?

And when will his wage come in ?

Scattering wide or blown in ranks,

Yellow and white and brown,
Boats and boats from the fishing banks

Come home to Gloucester town.
There is cash to purse and spend,

There are wives to be embraced,
Hearts to borrow and hearts to lend,
And hearts to take and keep to the end,

little sails, make haste!

But thou, vast outbound ship of souls,

What harbor town for thee ?
What shapes, when thy arriving tolls,

Shall crowd the banks to see ?
Shall all the happy shipmates then

Stand singing brotherly?
Or shall a haggard ruthless few


Warp her over and bring her to,
While the many broken souls of men
Fester down in the slaver's pen,
And nothing to say or do?

William Vaughn Moody.


man of my own people, I alone

Among these alien ones can know thy face,
I who have felt the kinship of our race

Burn in me as I sit where they intone

Thy praises, those who, striving to make known
A God for sacrifice, have missed the grace
Of thy sweet human meaning in its place,

Thou who art of our blood-bond and our own.

Are we not sharers of thy Passion? Yea,

In spirit-anguish closely by thy side
We have drained the bitter cup, and, tortured, felt
With thee the bruising of each heavy welt.

In every land is our Gethsemane.

A thousand times have we been crucified.

Florence Kiper Frank.


I know a song whose words are made of tears,

Shadowy, solemn, sweet;
Borne from the glory of the golden years

Whose tale is now complete.


I know a voice that fills me with its sadness,

So mournfully it seems
Unceasingly to wake the buried madness

Of long-forgotten dreams.

I know a soul which shares with that of mine

The pain of darksome ways,
Which craves and crowns the vanished joy divine

Of happier, saintlier days.

voice of sympathy, song of sorrow,

brave enduring soul,

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Online LibraryCharles G. (Charles Granger) BlandenThe Chicago anthology; a collection of verse from the work of Chicago poets → online text (page 1 of 8)