Miscellany of Poetry 1919 — Themes and Context
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The catalog record for Miscellany of Poetry 1919 — Themes and Context provides practical reading context through 24,270 words, 1 hr 46 min estimated reading time, and 5 detected text sections.
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hey had led us back from a lost battle, to halt we knew not where, And stilled us; and our gaping guns were dumb with our despair. The grey tribes flowed for ever from the infinite lifeless lands, And a Norman to a Breton spoke, his chin upon his hands:
"There was an end to Ilium; and an end came to Rome; And a man plays on a painted stage in the land that he calls home. Arch after arch of triumph, but floor beyond falling floor, That lead to a low door at last: and beyond there is no door."
The Breton to the Norman spoke, like a little child spake he, But his sea-blue eyes were empty as his home beside the sea: "There are more windows in one house than there are eyes to see; There are more doors in a man's house, but God has hid the key; Ruin is a builder of windows; her legend witnesseth Barbara, the saint of gunners, and a stay in sudden death."
It seemed the wheel of the worlds stood still an instant in its turning, More than the kings of the earth that turned with the turning of Valmy mill, While trickled the idle tale and the sea-blue eyes were burning, Still as the heart of a whirlwind, the heart of the world stood still.
"Barbara the beautiful had praise of lute and pen, Her hair was like a summer night, dark and desired of men, Her feet like birds from far away that linger and light in doubt, And her face was like a window where a man's first love looked out.
"Her sire was master of many slaves, a hard man of his hands; They built a tower about her in the desolate golden lands, Sealed as the tyrants sealed their tombs, planned with an ancient plan, And set two windows in the tower, like the two eyes of a man."
Our guns were set towards the foe; we had no word for firing; Grey in the gateways of St. Gond the Guard of the tyrant shone; Dark with the fate of a falling star, retiring and retiring, The Breton line went backwards and the Breton tale went on.
"Her father had sailed across the sea from the harbour of Africa, When all the slaves took up their tools for the bidding of Barbara; She smote the bare wall with her hand, and bade them smite again, She poured them wealth of wine and meat to stay them in their pain, And cried through the lifted thunder of thronging hammer and hod: 'Throw open the third window in the third name of God!' Then the hearts failed and the tools fell; and far towards the foam Men saw a shadow on the sands; and her father coming home."
Speak low and low, along the line the whispered word is flying, Before the touch, before the time, we may not lose a breath. Their guns must mash us to the mire and there be no replying Till the hand is raised to fling us for the final dice to Death.
"'There were two windows in your tower, Barbara, Barbara, For all between the sun and moon in the lands of Africa. Hath a man three eyes, Barbara, a bird three wings, That you have riven roof and wall to look upon vain things?' Her voice was like a wandering thing that falters, yet is free, Whose soul has drunk in a distant land of the rivers of liberty.
"'There are more wings than the wind knows, or eyes than see the sun, In the light of the lost window and the wind of the doors undone; For out of the first lattice are the red lands that break And out of the second lattice, sea like a green snake, But out of the third lattice, under low eaves like wings Is a new corner of the sky and the other side of things.'"
It opened in the inmost place an instant beyond uttering, A casement and a chasm and a thunder of doors undone, A seraph's strong wing shaken out the shock of its unshuttering That split the shattered sunlight from a light behind the sun.
The Miscellany of Poetry 1919 presents a striking range of poetic voices, from the compact moral epigram of Laurence Binyon's opening song to the expansive, sensory narrative of the excerpted poem set in North Africa. The editor, W. Kean Seymour, has gathered work that is 'new' in the sense of not having appeared in book form, and the collection's catholicity is evident in the juxtaposition of forms: Chesterton's elegy sits alongside Sitwell's experimental 'Eventail,' while Gibson's war poems share space with Golding's 'Shepherd Singing Ragtime.' This variety invites attention to how each poet handles rhythm, diction, and the pressure of recent history.
Contrasts in Diction and Form
The anthology's first poem, Binyon's 'Song,' uses a simple, almost proverbial structure—'For Mercy, Courage, Kindness, Mirth, / There is no measure upon earth'—to advocate emotional excess. Its tetrameter couplets feel deliberate and closed. In contrast, the long narrative excerpt (likely from a poem by an unnamed author) employs free verse with enjambed lines and a more conversational, descriptive tone: 'Gross, with protruding ears, / Sleek hair, brisk glance, fleshy and yet alert.' This shift from tight lyricism to loose, character-driven observation marks one of the collection's internal dialogues. Elsewhere, poems like 'Commercial' use a blunt, satirical voice, while 'The Villain' by Davies adopts a wry, compressed anecdotal style. Readers may note how the anthology moves between these registers without explicit transition, creating a mosaic of early 20th-century poetic practice.
War's Presence and Its Silences
Several poems directly address the First World War, but their approaches differ markedly. Gibson's sequence 'In War-Time' includes titles like 'Troopship,' 'The Conscript,' and 'Air-Raid,' suggesting a documentary impulse. The excerpted narrative, however, embeds war within a pastoral scene: 'kings afar send soldiery to reap' the standing corn, and a camp makes 'a bruise / Of blare and riot' on the silence. This oblique treatment contrasts with the more explicit 'Peace, June 28th, 1919' by Rose Macaulay, which likely reflects on the treaty. The anthology thus offers both direct and indirect reckonings with conflict. Notably, the narrative passage's shift from a domestic scene—a woman bathing with her son—to a sudden violent abduction by Nubian soldiers introduces a jarring, almost cinematic change in pace, moving from 'awe-filled pause' to 'strident shout' and physical struggle. This abrupt escalation is a key structural feature.
Pace and the Narrative Arc in a Single Poem
The longest excerpt in the provided text demonstrates a deliberate manipulation of tempo. It opens with a slow, descriptive accumulation: 'their present hutched and hived within that past / As bees in the parchment chest of Samson's lion.' The pace then quickens with the soldiers' arrival—'Sudden, as though the woof of heaven were torn'—and the action becomes fragmented and urgent: 'Screaming first / Commands to her small son to make for home, / She laboured to recross the current.' The use of similes ('as when / In nightmares the scared soul expects to die') heightens the tension. After the abduction, the poem returns to a reflective, uncertain cadence: 'Those arrows missed? — or did they not? The child / Shrieked twice, yet scarcely like a wounded thing / She thought and hoped and still but thinks and hopes.' This oscillation between vivid action and suspended anxiety is a notable feature of the poem, and one that distinguishes it from the more static lyrics elsewhere in the collection.
Readers approaching the Miscellany may find it useful to read the poems in clusters—for instance, comparing the war poems or the nature lyrics—to better appreciate the editorial choices. The anthology's value lies not in a unified statement but in the friction between its parts: the traditional alongside the experimental, the public alongside the private. Pay particular attention to how each poet manages closure; some poems end with a resolved couplet, others with an image left hanging. This variety is the collection's defining feature.
Flipping through the anthology’s 1919 pages, I remembered how my grandfather’s voice would change between formal rhyme and sudden, plain confession—the same tonal shift I found later in The Monkey's Frolic: A Humorous Tale, in Verse — Reading Notes. Both hold that odd, tender wobble between earnest feeling and wry grin, asking only that you sit with them quietly.
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