Judge — August 21, 1920 — page 14: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Poem by Charles Devine PER os, ESCENDING from their chimney-pots, The poet and the painter came, To walk in Latin Quarter streets And talk of art and laugh at fame: Two actions with a single theme To those inhabiting a dream. They spoke of souls and how they’re fed, And quite forgot the price of bread. They dropped into their old café, Each thinking that his friend would pay. “T saw the Scine at twelve o'clock,” The painter breacned, and or- dered bock; “T saw the night with purple trees, And saffron lanterns, stars . . . all these; A masterpiece is waiting me, 3ut brushes fail where eyes can see. One life’s too short, and light too faint To paint the things I want to paint.” 3 “AR not, mon vieux,” the bard replied, “Lean close, there’s much I would confide; A secret full of savants’ strife, It’s this—you’ll have another life Illustrations by Ray Irvin Wherein the time you'll richly find To finish all you left behind. ‘The wisdom just attained at death Can never end with dying breath. It must go on, fulfill, round out; Else why should it have come about?” ‘The poet paused, as rhetoric taught, The painter wiped his lips, in thought: “Tf IT can have my glass of beer Pll take my immortality here.” “But see,” the poct urged, “the hope For us of high aesthetic scope. The novelist whose chapter five Had left the hero scarce alive Will live again to make amend And save his hero in the end. “And you . . . some things of yours are crude And, frankly, underrate the nude, So one life more may not suffice To bring your work distinc tions nice.