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Show THE ACROBAT By Elolse Burton. (Here is something new in poetry taken from "The Little Review," the Chicago magazine edited ed-ited by Miss Margaret C. Anderson. There are scarcely any of the new schools barred from its startling pages and though the magazine is hardly two years old, it has risen to a place of eminence in the current literature of the day.) Poised like a panther on a bough He swings and leaps. His taunt body flashes clear, And in a long blue arc cuts the hushed air Tense as a cry. The keen, sharp wind of Death, Blows after like his shadow, and I feel A strange beast stir in me. I almost wish That which I cannot think, - ,,j A scream, a falling body. ... A new thrill! But he shoots onward, arms outstretched To clutch at life as it speeds past. His hands grip vise-like; With a wrench That half uproots his fingers, he has caught, And airily He twists about the bar And comes to rest. Sidewise lie sits, and carelessly High up among the winds, His taut body Grown lax and restful. As a vain child, pleased with himself, he smiles, (He smiles While our applause comes up Like incense. He (breathes a moment deeply. Then again the supple form grows tense, All wire, all vibrant, Poised for one tingling breath Before another flight. I watch him And a quick desire comes over me Of those slim hips, Those long! clean! slender limbs That stand for health, and for the sheer . Keen beauty of the body. I desire him And I desire the spirit of the man, The bodily fearlessness, The reckless courage in a swaddled age.... I desire him... . How lithe and firm would be the child Of such a man. . . . |