“Clerk’s Song” by Sherard Vines

Clerk's Song

After the office hours chime away
And hurrying souls drift homeward, one by one
The long shadows that follow the dead sun
Wake, and become coherent, just as a
Sequence of words is strung into a lay;

Their cool blue fingers recreate my thought,
They slant in curious shapes across the bricks
A cube, a hippogriff, a crucifix,
A grape cluster that drips its crimson draught
Of Anaesthesia, as I have long sought.

[ . . . ]


Sherard Vines' poem "Clerk's Song" was published in the 1918 "cycle" of the Wheels anthology. To read this poem in full in a digitized version of this publication, follow the links below:


The Modernist Journals Project

“Portrait of Nancy Trevors” by Donald Evans

Portrait of Nancy Trevors

They sat in her drawing-room amid easeful silence in

tolerant enmity.

The men were three, and her husband was the third.

This in its way amplified his urbanity.

His suavities were of ivory.

He was more irreproachable than her virginal tea



She gave her lips to the moment, and her fingers

nestled in a bowl of apricots.

The tea was amber, and the pungent lemon and the

blanched sugar

Seized and caressed the eyes as each man took a prof-

fered cup.


It loosed the tongues, and the four were free.

As four portraits on a wall come to life they stirred

the silence with a babbling that gleamed.

The drawing-room was draped in a wistaria mist,

And the flutter of the phrases patted the cheek with

an alien charm.

In but a short while she had become dominant.

And then she wrapped herself in the soothing nerves

of excitement.


The three were lost in the pursuit of fragrance.

Their chairs were their kingdoms, and there were no

other empires.

Archly then her voice dared:

"Will you have another cup, my beloved?"


It was three cups that rang to her, and her hus

band's, it chanced, was the third.

She smiled over her adroit and ample confession, and

it was enough.

She had done with the hour,

And she let the uneasy hush turn to a hodden-grey.

Donald Evans' poem "Portrait of Nancy Trevors" was published in 1920 in the third Others anthology. To read this poem in a digitized version of this publication, follow the link below:


“Moonlit Apples” by John Drinkwater

Moonlit Apples

At the top of the house the apples are laid in rows,

And the skylight lets the moonlight in, and those

Apples are deep-sea apples of green. There goes

A cloud on the moon in the autumn night.


A mouse in the wainscot scratches, and scratches, and


There is no sound at the top of the house of men

Or mice ; and the cloud is blown, and the moon again

Dapples the apples with deep-sea light.


They are lying in rows there, under the gloomy beams ;

On the sagging floor ; they gather the silver streams

Out of the moon, those moonlit apples of dreams,

And quiet is the steep stair under.


In the corridors under there is nothing but sleep.

And stiller than ever on orchard boughs they keep

Tryst with the moon, and deep is the silence, deep

On moon-washed apples of wonder.

"Moonlit Apples" by John Drinkwater was published in Georgian Poetry 1918-1919. To read this poem in a digitzed version of this publication, follow the link below:


“Gloom” by F.S. Flint


I sat there in the dark

of the room and of my mind

thinking of men's treasons and bad faith,

sinking into the pit of my own weakness

before their strength of cunning.

Out over the gardens came the sound of some one

playing five-finger exercises on the piano.



I gathered up within me all my powers

until outside of me was nothing:

I was all —

all stubborn, fighting sadness and revulsion.


[ . . . ]

F.S. Flint's poem "Gloom" was published in the 1916 Some Imagist Poets anthology. To read this poem in full in this publication context, follow the links below:

The Modernist Journals Project

Project Gutenberg (text version)