The Little ReviewVol. IIMARCH, 1915No. 1Copyright, 1915, by Margaret C. Anderson
The Little Review
Vol. IIMARCH, 1915No. 1
Vol. IIMARCH, 1915No. 1
Vol. II
MARCH, 1915
No. 1
Copyright, 1915, by Margaret C. Anderson
Fritz Schnack
(Translated from the German by William Saphier)
Sharp rips the plowAnd roots the day into the opened field,And kneads the light and splendor of the worldInto the conquered darkness.In summer, between close rowsOf waving blades, grow flowersBlooming buried sunlight.
Sharp rips the plowAnd roots the day into the opened field,And kneads the light and splendor of the worldInto the conquered darkness.In summer, between close rowsOf waving blades, grow flowersBlooming buried sunlight.
Sharp rips the plowAnd roots the day into the opened field,And kneads the light and splendor of the worldInto the conquered darkness.
Sharp rips the plow
And roots the day into the opened field,
And kneads the light and splendor of the world
Into the conquered darkness.
In summer, between close rowsOf waving blades, grow flowersBlooming buried sunlight.
In summer, between close rows
Of waving blades, grow flowers
Blooming buried sunlight.
Spread like the palm of a handLies at bottom the evening, gold and red.Every man may take as much as he likesOf its beauty, up to the farthest hilltops,As if it were wine and breadHanded out to feed hungry soulsAnd to fill with light the thirsty.I stroll alone on gentle roads into the splendorBathing my face in a thousand rosy waves;Far away like smoke from a black stack lies my pain.I know it, yet I wander.We may, like expectant children, be blessed.
Spread like the palm of a handLies at bottom the evening, gold and red.Every man may take as much as he likesOf its beauty, up to the farthest hilltops,As if it were wine and breadHanded out to feed hungry soulsAnd to fill with light the thirsty.I stroll alone on gentle roads into the splendorBathing my face in a thousand rosy waves;Far away like smoke from a black stack lies my pain.I know it, yet I wander.We may, like expectant children, be blessed.
Spread like the palm of a handLies at bottom the evening, gold and red.Every man may take as much as he likesOf its beauty, up to the farthest hilltops,As if it were wine and breadHanded out to feed hungry soulsAnd to fill with light the thirsty.
Spread like the palm of a hand
Lies at bottom the evening, gold and red.
Every man may take as much as he likes
Of its beauty, up to the farthest hilltops,
As if it were wine and bread
Handed out to feed hungry souls
And to fill with light the thirsty.
I stroll alone on gentle roads into the splendorBathing my face in a thousand rosy waves;Far away like smoke from a black stack lies my pain.I know it, yet I wander.We may, like expectant children, be blessed.
I stroll alone on gentle roads into the splendor
Bathing my face in a thousand rosy waves;
Far away like smoke from a black stack lies my pain.
I know it, yet I wander.
We may, like expectant children, be blessed.