91 THE NEW REPUBLIC
in Siberia, the pressure upon every European gov-
ernment to intervene would be very great.
There is one thing America can do, and should
do at once, and that is to recognize Russia. Whether
there is to be a war depends primarily upon ob-
scure and shifting forces Avithin Japan itself. But
THE BROKEN
The bell-rope that gathers God at dawn
Dispatches me zs> though I dropped down the knell
Of a spent dayto wander the cathedral lawn
From pit to crucifix, feet chill on steps from hell.
Have you not lieard, have you not seen that corps
Of shadows in the town, whose shoulders sway
Antiphonal carillons launched before
The stars are caught and hived in the sun's ray?
The bells, 1 say, the bells break down their tower;
And swing I know not where. Their tongues engrave
Membrane through marrow, my long-scattered score
Of broken intervals. . . . And I, tbeir sexton slave!
Oval encyclicals in canyons heaping
The impasse b i ^ with choir. Banked voices slain!
Pagodas, campaniles with reveilles outleaping
O terraced echoes prostrate on the plain! . . .
And so it was I entered tbe broken world
To trace the visionary company of love, its voice
An instant in tbe wind (I know not wbitber hurled)
But not for long to bold eacb desperate cboice.
TO HART
As you drank deep, as Tbor, did you tbink of milk or wine?
Did you drink blood, wbile you drank tbe salt deep?
or see tbrougb tbe film of ligbt, tbat sbarpened your rage
witb its stare,
a sbark, dolpbin, turtle? Did you not see tbe Cat
wbo, wben Tbor lifted ber, unbased tbe cubic ground?
You would drain fatbomless flagons to be slaked witb
vacuum.
Tbe sea's teats bave suckled you, and you are sunk far
in bubble-dreams, under swaying translucent vines
of tbundering interior wonder. Eagles can never now
carry parts of your body, over cupped mountains
as emblems of tbeir anger, embers to fire self-bate
to otber wonders,* unfolding wbite, flaming vistas.
Fisbes now look upon you, witb eyes wbicb do not gossip.
Fisbes are never sbocked. Fisbes will kiss you, eacb
fisb tweak you; every kiss take bits of you away,
till your bones alone will roll, witb tbe Gulf Stream's
swell.
So bas it been already, so bave tbe carpers and puffers
nibbled your carcass of fame, eacb to bis liking. Now
i.n tides of noon, tbe bones of your tbougbt-suspended
structures
as you intended. Noon pulled your eyes witb small
htne 8, 1932
American recognition of Russia will help stop
European incitement of Japan, and if war comes, it-
will help make possible an early negotiated peace.
Mr. Hoover has long professed his devotion to
world peace; recognition of Russia will demon^
strate his sincerity. JONATHAN MiTCHELL.
TOWER
My word I poured. But was it cognate, scored
Of tbat tribunal monarcb of tbe air
Wbose tbigb embronzes eartb, strikes crystal Word
In wounds pledged once to bopecleft to despair?
Tbe steep encroacbments of my blood left me
No answer (could blood bold sucb a lofty tower
As flings tbe question true?)or is it sbe
Wbose sweet mortality stirs latent power?
And tbrougb wbose pulse I bear, counting tbe strokes
My veins recall and add, revived and sure
Tbe angelus of wars my cbest evokes:
Wbat I bold bealed, original now, and pure . . .
And builds, witbin, a tower tbat is not stone
(Not stone can jacket heaven)but slip
Of pebblesvisible wings of silence sown
In azure circles, widening as tbey dip
Tbe matrix of tbe beart, lift down tbe eye
Tbat sbrines tbe quiet lake and swells a tower . . .
Tbe ccanmodious, tall decorum of tbat sky
Unseals ber eartb, and lifts love in its sbower.
HART CRANE.
CRANE
magnetic beadacbes. Tbe will seeped from your blood. Seeds
of meaning popped from tbe pods of tbougbt. And you
fall. And tbe unseen
cburn of Time cbanges tbe pearl bued ocean;
like a pearl sbaped drop, in a buge water-clock
falling; from came to go, from come to went. And you fell.
Waters received you. Waters of our Birtb in Deatb dis-
solve you.
Now you bave willed it, may tbe Great Wasb take you.
Wbile your Motber-Lover cleanses your woe away, and
grief,
sbe bears you far away; and you are stilled in sleep
and snore no more. Your rage is gone on a brigbt flood
away; as, wben a bad friend beld out bis band;
you said, "Do not talk any more. I know you meant
no barm."
Wbat was tbe soil wbence your anger sprang, wbo are
deaf
as tbe stones to tbe wbispering fligbt of tbe Mississippi's
rivers?
Wbat did you see as you fell? Wbat did you bear as
you sank?
Did it make you drunken witb bearing?
1 will not ask any more. You saw or beard no evil.
J O H N WHEELWRIGHT.