For which I am so patiently waiting.
Base people!
How I dislike you!
Maybe you think this is funny, but certainly it is not intended to be. Seriousness, thick, black, dense seriousness is the keynote of The Little Review. This is vers libre with a vengeance. “Persons will come out and shake legs. I do not want legs shaken.” Here we have the spirit of the dance! It is quite evident Mr. Ficke does not wish joy to be unconfined.
There have been many descriptions of dawn, probably none so unique as “the dawn spilled across the blackness like a scrambled egg on the skillet.” The second verse is short and to the point, but it is much to be thankful for both in point of length and the statement that we are abhorred.
In order to restore our thoughts to something sane, to take away from us the taste of such gibberish, consider for a moment the following eight lines by Harriet Howe, recently published in The Literary Digest. Comparison between the two authors is utterly impossible, totally unnecessary:
SUNSET AFTER RAIN
The cradle of the valley
Is filled with floating mist,
The summits of the mountains