8.

The deepest love is voiceless too;
Heart sorrow makes no moan.
How still the zephyrs when they woo!
How calm the rose full blown!

The highest thoughts no utterance find,
The holiest hope is dumb,

In silence grows the immortal mind,
And speechless deep joys come.

- SPALDING: Silence.

Tell of other silences, of loudest sounds, of various splendors, of great thoughts, of forgotten tales, of wonderful dreams.

9.

Low-anchored cloud,

Newfoundland air,

Fountain-head and source of rivers,

Dew-cloth, dream-drapery,

Drifting meadow of the air

Where bloom the daisied banks and violets,

And in whose fenny labyrinth

The bittern booms and heron wades;
Spirit of lakes and seas and rivers,
Bear only perfumes and the scent
Of healing herbs to just men's fields.

This is unrimed and irregular verse.

- THOREAU: Mist.

Imagine a graphic picture of:

the midnight express; the showers of April; the fields of wheat; the city market; the clouds; the department store.

10.

Where is the war ye march unto;
From the early tents of morn,

And what are the deeds ye hope to do,
Brave Grenadiers of Corn?

Pearls of the dew are on your hair,
And the jewels of morning light,
Pennants of green ye fling to the air,
And the tall plumes waving bright.

Yea, and upon September's field,

When the long campaign is done,

With arms up-stacked, your hearts will yield
Conquest of rain and sun;

The pennants and plumes will then be sere,
Your pearls will delight no morn,

But tents of plenty will bless the year,
Brave Grenadiers of Corn.

-M. EARLS, S.J.: The Green Brigade.

Carry out suggestively, without forcing, the following comparisons : the flowers on the poet's page; the gold dust sifted from corn; the funeral of the year; the jewels among the flowers; the architect of the snows; the winds that shepherd the clouds; the tides of the city streets.

11.

Remember me when I am gone away,

Gone far away into the silent land

When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more, day by day,
You tell me of our future that you planned:
Only remember me! you understand
It will be late to counsel then or pray.
Yet if you should forget me for a while
And afterwards remember, do not grieve,
For if the darkness and corruption leave
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad.
CHRISTINA ROSSETTI: Remember.

The sonnet, as this form is called, has fourteen five-foot iambic lines with the rimes of the first eight lines (octave) arranged usually as here (a b ba a b b a), and with the rimes of the last lines (sestet), different from those of the octave and variously arranged, often (cdecde). The sonnet should have strict unity, presenting one thought under two aspects, the sestet following from the octave. The sonnet is often personal in tone and quietly dramatic in expression. Its music should be varied without being jerky. Rossetti's sonnet is remarkable for its ease, for its very simple diction, for the still simpler pictures it evokes. The iterated words, especially "remember," help much to its unity and to its sequent smoothness, while appropriately voicing the tone of elegy. Compare the Shakespearian sonnet, "No longer mourn for me when I am dead," for a differing form with a like theme.

Change other poems into sonnets: Newman's Lead, Kindly Light; Holmes' The Last Leaf, Old Ironsides; Poe's Raven, Helen; Ryan's Sword of Lee; Moore's Oft in the Stilly Night; Daly's Song of the Thrush. Fill out sonnets, beginning with these lines or the like:

Some day you will regret your thought of me
Sing, sing, America, a song of peace

The holiest of all holidays are those

Come, blessed darkness, come and bring me joy — One after one the high emotions fade

I wish I could enshrine my friends in song

APPENDIX

DIRECTIONS FOR TEACHERS

Composition, an Art. "Mere learning of rules never made a speaker or writer," declares Bulletin No. 2, 1917, of the Bureau of Education. (Reorganization of English in Secondary Schools, page 28.) The same statement was made by Saint Augustine early in the fifth century: "Without the rules of rhetoric we have known very many to become better speakers than those who learned the rules, but we have never known one who became a speaker without reading or hearing the discussions and speeches of others." (De Doctrina Christ., IV, 5.)

Still earlier testimony to the same effect is found in the school of Isocrates (435-338, B.C.). The school of Aristotle," says Jebb, "in which rhetoric was both scientifically and assiduously taught, produced not a single orator of note, except Demetrius Phalereus; the school of Isocrates produced a host. [More than forty are known.] Why was this so? Clearly because Isocrates, though inferior in the grasp of principles, was greatly superior in the practical department of teaching. It was not mainly by his theory, it was rather by exercises, for which his own writings furnished models, that he formed his pupils."

Jebb: Attic Orators, II, 433.

If rules alone do not make speakers or writers, what will? The successful school of Isocrates, the statement of St. Augustine, and the uniform testimony of all teachers, with very few exceptions in recent times, give the answer. Models are used in mechanical arts as well as in fine arts; models must be used in the art of composition. That, like it or not," says Stevenson, "is the way to learn to write." Science is systematized knowledge and may be gained, in part at least, by the understanding and memorizing of facts and principles. Art, however, is the power of doing something, and