Ms. Thomas seems to have had an attack of the ending e.
----------
The Turning of The Leafe.*

I.
O HAPPY leafe
(( to the vernal bud did say),
Thou has no griefe,
Kiss’d by the loving sunne in May.
Me envy not
(The leafe replied),
As sweet thy lot
All summertide.

II.
O piteous leafe
(I to wilde autumn’s waife did say),
Thy pride how briefe,
How soon the frost and wind make way !
Me pity not
(The leafe replied),
As vex’d thy lot,
As briefe thy pride.

Edith M. Thomas.
----------

*In “The Critic” Number 93, p. 174.
“The Critic, A Literary Weekly, Critical and Eclectic.”
Volume IV. (New Series)
July – December, 1885

On Sunday, November 5, 2023 at 11:32:36 AM UTC-5, NancyGene wrote:
> Ms. Thomas seems to have had an attack of the ending e.
> ----------
> The Turning of The Leafe.*
>
> I.
> O HAPPY leafe
> (( to the vernal bud did say),
> Thou has no griefe,
> Kiss’d by the loving sunne in May.
> Me envy not
> (The leafe replied),
> As sweet thy lot
> All summertide.
>
> II.
> O piteous leafe
> (I to wilde autumn’s waife did say),
> Thy pride how briefe,
> How soon the frost and wind make way !
> Me pity not
> (The leafe replied),
> As vex’d thy lot,
> As briefe thy pride.
>
> Edith M. Thomas.
> ----------
>
> *In “The Critic” Number 93, p. 174.
> “The Critic, A Literary Weekly, Critical and Eclectic.”
> Volume IV. (New Series)
> July – December, 1885
In the same publication as above, criticizing Edith Thomas's poetic ability:

“A Curiosity of Criticism." [From “The Independent:”] “’A New Year’s Masque and Other Poems*,’ by Edith M. Thomas, is one of the most puzzling volumes, if not the most puzzling volume, of verse that we remember ever to have read." [...] “She has, in a word, many of the qualities which go to the making of poets; but, somehow or other, they do not appear to have made a poet of her. [...] We are impressed by her promise, but not by her performance.”

For Pissbums: “If she lived less in herself, and more in others, she would be more of a poet than she is. [...] There is a larger life than pertains to any one human being, however gifted, and the more the poet attains to it, and comprehends it, the larger he becomes.” [...] “One of the faults which we find with her poetry is that its texture is too slight, and its interest too personal.”

“There are eighty-seven compositions in her volume, and of these not more than three or four fulfil the conditions that are fulfilled by all true poems, and which are—unity of purpose and effect, and precision and perfection of form. Poems are complete in themselves; so complete that the life of one is no more the life of another than the life of painting is the life of sculpture, or the life or painting and sculpture is the life of music.”

From: “The Critic,” Number 92, page 164.

On Sunday, November 5, 2023 at 11:58:23 AM UTC-5, NancyGene wrote:
> On Sunday, November 5, 2023 at 11:32:36 AM UTC-5, NancyGene wrote:
> > Ms. Thomas seems to have had an attack of the ending e.
> > ----------
> > The Turning of The Leafe.*
> >
> > I.
> > O HAPPY leafe
> > (( to the vernal bud did say),
> > Thou has no griefe,
> > Kiss’d by the loving sunne in May.
> > Me envy not
> > (The leafe replied),
> > As sweet thy lot
> > All summertide.
> >
> > II.
> > O piteous leafe
> > (I to wilde autumn’s waife did say),
> > Thy pride how briefe,
> > How soon the frost and wind make way !
> > Me pity not
> > (The leafe replied),
> > As vex’d thy lot,
> > As briefe thy pride.
> >
> > Edith M. Thomas.
> > ----------
> >
> > *In “The Critic” Number 93, p. 174.
> > “The Critic, A Literary Weekly, Critical and Eclectic.”
> > Volume IV. (New Series)
> > July – December, 1885
> In the same publication as above, criticizing Edith Thomas's poetic ability:
>
> “A Curiosity of Criticism." [From “The Independent:”] “’A New Year’s Masque and Other Poems*,’ by Edith M. Thomas, is one of the most puzzling volumes, if not the most puzzling volume, of verse that we remember ever to have read." [...] “She has, in a word, many of the qualities which go to the making of poets; but, somehow or other, they do not appear to have made a poet of her. [...] We are impressed by her promise, but not by her performance.”
>
> For Pissbums: “If she lived less in herself, and more in others, she would be more of a poet than she is. [...] There is a larger life than pertains to any one human being, however gifted, and the more the poet attains to it, and comprehends it, the larger he becomes.” [...] “One of the faults which we find with her poetry is that its texture is too slight, and its interest too personal.”
>
> “There are eighty-seven compositions in her volume, and of these not more than three or four fulfil the conditions that are fulfilled by all true poems, and which are—unity of purpose and effect, and precision and perfection of form. Poems are complete in themselves; so complete that the life of one is no more the life of another than the life of painting is the life of sculpture, or the life or painting and sculpture is the life of music.”
>
> From: “The Critic,” Number 92, page 164.

Edith Thomas was one of those never-married/no children 19th century woman poets,

On Sunday, November 5, 2023 at 11:58:23 AM UTC-5, NancyGene wrote:
> On Sunday, November 5, 2023 at 11:32:36 AM UTC-5, NancyGene wrote:
> > Ms. Thomas seems to have had an attack of the ending e.
> > ----------
> > The Turning of The Leafe.*
> >
> > I.
> > O HAPPY leafe
> > (( to the vernal bud did say),
> > Thou has no griefe,
> > Kiss’d by the loving sunne in May.
> > Me envy not
> > (The leafe replied),
> > As sweet thy lot
> > All summertide.
> >
> > II.
> > O piteous leafe
> > (I to wilde autumn’s waife did say),
> > Thy pride how briefe,
> > How soon the frost and wind make way !
> > Me pity not
> > (The leafe replied),
> > As vex’d thy lot,
> > As briefe thy pride.
> >
> > Edith M. Thomas.
> > ----------
> >
> > *In “The Critic” Number 93, p. 174.
> > “The Critic, A Literary Weekly, Critical and Eclectic.”
> > Volume IV. (New Series)
> > July – December, 1885
> In the same publication as above, criticizing Edith Thomas's poetic ability:
>
> “A Curiosity of Criticism." [From “The Independent:”] “’A New Year’s Masque and Other Poems*,’ by Edith M. Thomas, is one of the most puzzling volumes, if not the most puzzling volume, of verse that we remember ever to have read." [...] “She has, in a word, many of the qualities which go to the making of poets; but, somehow or other, they do not appear to have made a poet of her. [...] We are impressed by her promise, but not by her performance.”
>
> For Pissbums: “If she lived less in herself, and more in others, she would be more of a poet than she is. [...] There is a larger life than pertains to any one human being, however gifted, and the more the poet attains to it, and comprehends it, the larger he becomes.” [...] “One of the faults which we find with her poetry is that its texture is too slight, and its interest too personal.”
>
> “There are eighty-seven compositions in her volume, and of these not more than three or four fulfil the conditions that are fulfilled by all true poems, and which are—unity of purpose and effect, and precision and perfection of form. Poems are complete in themselves; so complete that the life of one is no more the life of another than the life of painting is the life of sculpture, or the life or painting and sculpture is the life of music.”
>
> From: “The Critic,” Number 92, page 164.

I think the critic's being a little harsh. Not only that, but his second remark (beginning with "If she lived less in herself...") reads like a template for Ellsworth Toohey. That, alone, is enough to place my sympathies with Miss Thomas.

It also makes me feel that Miss Thomas and I are kindred spirits in one respect, as my own poetry is written without any regard for tastes of others. I like to think that they possess a universal message, but the messages arises out of the poem of its own accord.

I also identify with her attempt to make her poem appear to have been written in an earlier period by adding the extra "e"s, addressing the leafe with "thou"s and "thy"s, using inversions, etc., as I went through my own "Medieval Period" in the 1990s.

That said, I find the leafe's inversions "Me envy not" and "Me pity not" to be more akin to Tarzan-speak than faux Medieval or Elizabethan verse. "Envy me not" and "Pity me not" retain the old fashioned inversion without suggestion that the speaker swings from trees (even if the speaker is a leafe)..

The line "(I to wilde autumn’s waife did say)," is excellent: a) due to the perfectly placed alliteration, b) the concept that autumn should be "wilde," and especially c) that a fallen leafe would be "autumn's waife."

The rest of the poem is practically filler by comparison. In this regard, I agree with the critic's assessment that while she possesses "many of the qualities which go to the making of poets; but, somehow or other, they do not appear to have made a poet of her." That is, she wastes a brilliant line in a mediocre poem.

And the poem is mediocre. The problem is that although the leafe is making a profound (if not original) observation, it nevertheless gives the impression that it really has nothing to say.

The narrative is simple and broken into two mirrored segments, each containing an exchange between the speaker and the leafe. In the first segment, the speaker envies the budding leafe's joyful life in the sun. The leafe tells the speaker not to be envious, as she will have as joyful a life in the summer. In the second segment, the speaker pities the fallen leafe. The leafe tells the speaker not to pity it, as she, too will have a similar fate.

Had the leafe's statements been more memorably expressed, this might have been a great poem. In fact, had Miss Thomas concentrated less on having the leafe speak in an approximation of Elizabethan English, would probably have pulled it off.

Michael Pendragon
"You're a hypothetical idiot, aren't you, Ash?"
Will Donkey, hypothesizing idiotically
https://imgur.com/gallery/dpR2ESh
https://imgur.com/gallery/rtvGMMt

On Sunday, November 5, 2023 at 2:31:45 PM UTC-5, Michael Pendragon wrote:
> On Sunday, November 5, 2023 at 11:58:23 AM UTC-5, NancyGene wrote:
> > On Sunday, November 5, 2023 at 11:32:36 AM UTC-5, NancyGene wrote:
> > > Ms. Thomas seems to have had an attack of the ending e.
> > > ----------
> > > The Turning of The Leafe.*
> > >
> > > I.
> > > O HAPPY leafe
> > > (( to the vernal bud did say),
> > > Thou has no griefe,
> > > Kiss’d by the loving sunne in May.
> > > Me envy not
> > > (The leafe replied),
> > > As sweet thy lot
> > > All summertide.
> > >
> > > II.
> > > O piteous leafe
> > > (I to wilde autumn’s waife did say),
> > > Thy pride how briefe,
> > > How soon the frost and wind make way !
> > > Me pity not
> > > (The leafe replied),
> > > As vex’d thy lot,
> > > As briefe thy pride.
> > >
> > > Edith M. Thomas.
> > > ----------
> > >
> > > *In “The Critic” Number 93, p. 174.
> > > “The Critic, A Literary Weekly, Critical and Eclectic.”
> > > Volume IV. (New Series)
> > > July – December, 1885
> > In the same publication as above, criticizing Edith Thomas's poetic ability:
> >
> > “A Curiosity of Criticism." [From “The Independent:”] “’A New Year’s Masque and Other Poems*,’ by Edith M. Thomas, is one of the most puzzling volumes, if not the most puzzling volume, of verse that we remember ever to have read." [...] “She has, in a word, many of the qualities which go to the making of poets; but, somehow or other, they do not appear to have made a poet of her. [...] We are impressed by her promise, but not by her performance.”
> >
> > For Pissbums: “If she lived less in herself, and more in others, she would be more of a poet than she is. [...] There is a larger life than pertains to any one human being, however gifted, and the more the poet attains to it, and comprehends it, the larger he becomes.” [...] “One of the faults which we find with her poetry is that its texture is too slight, and its interest too personal.”
> >
> > “There are eighty-seven compositions in her volume, and of these not more than three or four fulfil the conditions that are fulfilled by all true poems, and which are—unity of purpose and effect, and precision and perfection of form. Poems are complete in themselves; so complete that the life of one is no more the life of another than the life of painting is the life of sculpture, or the life or painting and sculpture is the life of music.”
> >
> > From: “The Critic,” Number 92, page 164.
> I think the critic's being a little harsh. Not only that, but his second remark (beginning with "If she lived less in herself...") reads like a template for Ellsworth Toohey. That, alone, is enough to place my sympathies with Miss Thomas.

She must have gotten better with subsequent poems.
>
> It also makes me feel that Miss Thomas and I are kindred spirits in one respect, as my own poetry is written without any regard for tastes of others.. I like to think that they possess a universal message, but the messages arises out of the poem of its own accord.

We at first thought that she was naïve in her poem subjects and writings, but she was 30 when "A New Year's Masque and Other Poems" was published.. She didn't move to New York until 1887.
>
> I also identify with her attempt to make her poem appear to have been written in an earlier period by adding the extra "e"s, addressing the leafe with "thou"s and "thy"s, using inversions, etc., as I went through my own "Medieval Period" in the 1990s.

Youe arte kinde.
>
> That said, I find the leafe's inversions "Me envy not" and "Me pity not" to be more akin to Tarzan-speak than faux Medieval or Elizabethan verse. "Envy me not" and "Pity me not" retain the old fashioned inversion without suggestion that the speaker swings from trees (even if the speaker is a leafe).
Everything is an inversion, which doesn't read well today.
>
> The line "(I to wilde autumn’s waife did say)," is excellent: a) due to the perfectly placed alliteration, b) the concept that autumn should be "wilde," and especially c) that a fallen leafe would be "autumn's waife.."
>
> The rest of the poem is practically filler by comparison. In this regard, I agree with the critic's assessment that while she possesses "many of the qualities which go to the making of poets; but, somehow or other, they do not appear to have made a poet of her." That is, she wastes a brilliant line in a mediocre poem.
We skimmed the book's poems at: https://babel.hathitrust.org/cgi/pt?id=loc.ark:/13960/t05x30b27&seq=26 and tend to agree with the critic. The poems lack heart and experience.

>
> And the poem is mediocre. The problem is that although the leafe is making a profound (if not original) observation, it nevertheless gives the impression that it really has nothing to say.
She may not have had much stimulation to write her way out of her environs. How many poems can you write about the weather in Ohio? Love for her seemed to be in the classic tales.
>
> The narrative is simple and broken into two mirrored segments, each containing an exchange between the speaker and the leafe. In the first segment, the speaker envies the budding leafe's joyful life in the sun. The leafe tells the speaker not to be envious, as she will have as joyful a life in the summer. In the second segment, the speaker pities the fallen leafe. The leafe tells the speaker not to pity it, as she, too will have a similar fate.

Yes, the juxtaposition was good.
>
> Had the leafe's statements been more memorably expressed, this might have been a great poem. In fact, had Miss Thomas concentrated less on having the leafe speak in an approximation of Elizabethan English, would probably have pulled it off.
Too late now. She does have some poems on the themes of life and death/youth and old age with which you might identify.

We saw a particular poem in her book which started out promisingly but then petered out. We wish that she had continued in the same mood and theme throughout the poem:
-------------
Diablerie.
‘Tis a night of the witches,
Of goblins and witches !
See how they hover,
Starting out of their niches
Among the black trees !
The moon’s ill at ease,
Lest the mob should have spied her,
And hastens to cover
Her face in a cloud,
Or diaphanous shroud,
Too sleazy to hide her !
And not only witches—
(Grewsome with beards)
Goblins and witches,
In all keys and pitches,
Chanting their weirds :--
Not only ghosts, jostling,
In yonder dim alley,
Where ghosts wont to rally ;
But I hear a low rustling
And whistling behind me—
Footsteps behind me
On the hard frozen ground !
I dare not look round,
Lest Terror should bind me,
Should chill me, and blind me,
And I, next morning, in marble be found !

On it comes, lightly,
Over stones skipping,
On the turf tripping,
Something more sprightly
Than witches, I fancy--
Worse necromancy !
But, face about ;
Charge on the rout,
Whatever betide me :
Ah, now I see clearly,
‘Tis a dead leaf, merely,--
A dead leaf ! no wonder
The moon, peering under
That skurrying cloud, looks out to deride me!

--Edith M. Thomas
----------
“The Critic” – January 28, 1882, p. 25 (“The Critic” Volume II, January 14 to December 30, 1882) and “A New Year's Masque, and Other Poems” by Edith M. Thomas (1884), pp.. 59-60.
https://babel.hathitrust.org/cgi/pt?id=loc.ark:/13960/t05x30b27&seq=8
>
>
> Michael Pendragon
> "You're a hypothetical idiot, aren't you, Ash?"
> Will Donkey, hypothesizing idiotically
> https://imgur.com/gallery/dpR2ESh
> https://imgur.com/gallery/rtvGMMt

OK, this thread was a worthwhile read-- a rarity in this place; not only for the poetry critique and commentary but I actually came away from with this thread with something that I could actually use for constructive purposes-- the bit about a perfect line being doomed in a mediocre poem.

On Sunday, November 5, 2023 at 4:40:11 PM UTC-5, Ash Wurthing wrote:
> OK, this thread was a worthwhile read-- a rarity in this place; not only for the poetry critique and commentary but I actually came away from with this thread with something that I could actually use for constructive purposes-- the bit about a perfect line being doomed in a mediocre poem.

Thank you, Ash--our posts are Certified 100% Fresh. Don't trust those mediocre imitators who post on the same subject or poem.

We all strive for perfect lines.

On Sunday, November 5, 2023 at 3:59:56 PM UTC-5, NancyGene wrote:
> On Sunday, November 5, 2023 at 2:31:45 PM UTC-5, Michael Pendragon wrote:
> > On Sunday, November 5, 2023 at 11:58:23 AM UTC-5, NancyGene wrote:
> > > On Sunday, November 5, 2023 at 11:32:36 AM UTC-5, NancyGene wrote:
> > > > Ms. Thomas seems to have had an attack of the ending e.
> > > > ----------
> > > > The Turning of The Leafe.*
> > > >
> > > > I.
> > > > O HAPPY leafe
> > > > (( to the vernal bud did say),
> > > > Thou has no griefe,
> > > > Kiss’d by the loving sunne in May.
> > > > Me envy not
> > > > (The leafe replied),
> > > > As sweet thy lot
> > > > All summertide.
> > > >
> > > > II.
> > > > O piteous leafe
> > > > (I to wilde autumn’s waife did say),
> > > > Thy pride how briefe,
> > > > How soon the frost and wind make way !
> > > > Me pity not
> > > > (The leafe replied),
> > > > As vex’d thy lot,
> > > > As briefe thy pride.
> > > >
> > > > Edith M. Thomas.
> > > > ----------
> > > >
> > > > *In “The Critic” Number 93, p. 174.
> > > > “The Critic, A Literary Weekly, Critical and Eclectic.”
> > > > Volume IV. (New Series)
> > > > July – December, 1885
> > > In the same publication as above, criticizing Edith Thomas's poetic ability:
> > >
> > > “A Curiosity of Criticism." [From “The Independent:”] “’A New Year’s Masque and Other Poems*,’ by Edith M. Thomas, is one of the most puzzling volumes, if not the most puzzling volume, of verse that we remember ever to have read." [...] “She has, in a word, many of the qualities which go to the making of poets; but, somehow or other, they do not appear to have made a poet of her. [...] We are impressed by her promise, but not by her performance.”
> > >
> > > For Pissbums: “If she lived less in herself, and more in others, she would be more of a poet than she is. [...] There is a larger life than pertains to any one human being, however gifted, and the more the poet attains to it, and comprehends it, the larger he becomes.” [...] “One of the faults which we find with her poetry is that its texture is too slight, and its interest too personal.”
> > >
> > > “There are eighty-seven compositions in her volume, and of these not more than three or four fulfil the conditions that are fulfilled by all true poems, and which are—unity of purpose and effect, and precision and perfection of form. Poems are complete in themselves; so complete that the life of one is no more the life of another than the life of painting is the life of sculpture, or the life or painting and sculpture is the life of music.”
> > >
> > > From: “The Critic,” Number 92, page 164.
> > I think the critic's being a little harsh. Not only that, but his second remark (beginning with "If she lived less in herself...") reads like a template for Ellsworth Toohey. That, alone, is enough to place my sympathies with Miss Thomas.
> She must have gotten better with subsequent poems.
> >
> > It also makes me feel that Miss Thomas and I are kindred spirits in one respect, as my own poetry is written without any regard for tastes of others. I like to think that they possess a universal message, but the messages arises out of the poem of its own accord.
> We at first thought that she was naïve in her poem subjects and writings, but she was 30 when "A New Year's Masque and Other Poems" was published. She didn't move to New York until 1887.
> >
> > I also identify with her attempt to make her poem appear to have been written in an earlier period by adding the extra "e"s, addressing the leafe with "thou"s and "thy"s, using inversions, etc., as I went through my own "Medieval Period" in the 1990s.
> Youe arte kinde.
> >
> > That said, I find the leafe's inversions "Me envy not" and "Me pity not" to be more akin to Tarzan-speak than faux Medieval or Elizabethan verse. "Envy me not" and "Pity me not" retain the old fashioned inversion without suggestion that the speaker swings from trees (even if the speaker is a leafe).
> Everything is an inversion, which doesn't read well today.
> >
> > The line "(I to wilde autumn’s waife did say)," is excellent: a) due to the perfectly placed alliteration, b) the concept that autumn should be "wilde," and especially c) that a fallen leafe would be "autumn's waife."
> >
> > The rest of the poem is practically filler by comparison. In this regard, I agree with the critic's assessment that while she possesses "many of the qualities which go to the making of poets; but, somehow or other, they do not appear to have made a poet of her." That is, she wastes a brilliant line in a mediocre poem.
> We skimmed the book's poems at: https://babel.hathitrust.org/cgi/pt?id=loc.ark:/13960/t05x30b27&seq=26 and tend to agree with the critic. The poems lack heart and experience.
> >
> > And the poem is mediocre. The problem is that although the leafe is making a profound (if not original) observation, it nevertheless gives the impression that it really has nothing to say.
> She may not have had much stimulation to write her way out of her environs. How many poems can you write about the weather in Ohio? Love for her seemed to be in the classic tales.
> >
> > The narrative is simple and broken into two mirrored segments, each containing an exchange between the speaker and the leafe. In the first segment, the speaker envies the budding leafe's joyful life in the sun. The leafe tells the speaker not to be envious, as she will have as joyful a life in the summer. In the second segment, the speaker pities the fallen leafe. The leafe tells the speaker not to pity it, as she, too will have a similar fate.
> Yes, the juxtaposition was good.
> >
> > Had the leafe's statements been more memorably expressed, this might have been a great poem. In fact, had Miss Thomas concentrated less on having the leafe speak in an approximation of Elizabethan English, would probably have pulled it off.
> Too late now. She does have some poems on the themes of life and death/youth and old age with which you might identify.
>
> We saw a particular poem in her book which started out promisingly but then petered out. We wish that she had continued in the same mood and theme throughout the poem:
> -------------
> Diablerie.
> ‘Tis a night of the witches,
> Of goblins and witches !
> See how they hover,
> Starting out of their niches
> Among the black trees !
> The moon’s ill at ease,
> Lest the mob should have spied her,
> And hastens to cover
> Her face in a cloud,
> Or diaphanous shroud,
> Too sleazy to hide her !
> And not only witches—
> (Grewsome with beards)
> Goblins and witches,
> In all keys and pitches,
> Chanting their weirds :--
> Not only ghosts, jostling,
> In yonder dim alley,
> Where ghosts wont to rally ;
> But I hear a low rustling
> And whistling behind me—
> Footsteps behind me
> On the hard frozen ground !
> I dare not look round,
> Lest Terror should bind me,
> Should chill me, and blind me,
> And I, next morning, in marble be found !
>
> On it comes, lightly,
> Over stones skipping,
> On the turf tripping,
> Something more sprightly
> Than witches, I fancy--
> Worse necromancy !
> But, face about ;
> Charge on the rout,
> Whatever betide me :
> Ah, now I see clearly,
> ‘Tis a dead leaf, merely,--
> A dead leaf ! no wonder
> The moon, peering under
> That skurrying cloud, looks out to deride me!
>
> --Edith M. Thomas

I don't think it peters out so much as it reveals itself to be a whimsical piece of light verse. As such, it makes perfect sense that the speaker's mounting terror on her walk home should turn out be nothing more than a dead leaf being swept along in her wake.

The last line is weak (even if one ignores the misspelling), but the overall poem is mildly amusing. It's the sort of thing one might recite to frighten children on Halloween.

Of course, me being who I am, I would have preferred that the poem had been a serious take on witchcraft, demonology, and black magick, with the terror increasing at the poem's close. But true "diablerie" is a subject that few poets (especially during the Victorian era) explored.

Michael Pendragon
"It sounds a lot like Michael Pendragon's hypothetical whining."
-- Will Dockery, hypothesizing again.
https://imgur.com/gallery/dpR2ESh
https://imgur.com/gallery/rtvGMMt

On Sunday, November 5, 2023 at 6:07:22 PM UTC-5, Michael Pendragon wrote:
> On Sunday, November 5, 2023 at 3:59:56 PM UTC-5, NancyGene wrote:
> > On Sunday, November 5, 2023 at 2:31:45 PM UTC-5, Michael Pendragon wrote:
> > > On Sunday, November 5, 2023 at 11:58:23 AM UTC-5, NancyGene wrote:
> > > > On Sunday, November 5, 2023 at 11:32:36 AM UTC-5, NancyGene wrote:
> > > > > Ms. Thomas seems to have had an attack of the ending e.
> > > > > ----------
> > > > > The Turning of The Leafe.*
> > > > >
> > > > > I.
> > > > > O HAPPY leafe
> > > > > (( to the vernal bud did say),
> > > > > Thou has no griefe,
> > > > > Kiss’d by the loving sunne in May.
> > > > > Me envy not
> > > > > (The leafe replied),
> > > > > As sweet thy lot
> > > > > All summertide.
> > > > >
> > > > > II.
> > > > > O piteous leafe
> > > > > (I to wilde autumn’s waife did say),
> > > > > Thy pride how briefe,
> > > > > How soon the frost and wind make way !
> > > > > Me pity not
> > > > > (The leafe replied),
> > > > > As vex’d thy lot,
> > > > > As briefe thy pride.
> > > > >
> > > > > Edith M. Thomas.
> > > > > ----------
> > > > >
> > > > > *In “The Critic” Number 93, p. 174.
> > > > > “The Critic, A Literary Weekly, Critical and Eclectic.”
> > > > > Volume IV. (New Series)
> > > > > July – December, 1885
> > > > In the same publication as above, criticizing Edith Thomas's poetic ability:
> > > >
> > > > “A Curiosity of Criticism." [From “The Independent:”] “’A New Year’s Masque and Other Poems*,’ by Edith M. Thomas, is one of the most puzzling volumes, if not the most puzzling volume, of verse that we remember ever to have read." [...] “She has, in a word, many of the qualities which go to the making of poets; but, somehow or other, they do not appear to have made a poet of her. [...] We are impressed by her promise, but not by her performance.”
> > > >
> > > > For Pissbums: “If she lived less in herself, and more in others, she would be more of a poet than she is. [...] There is a larger life than pertains to any one human being, however gifted, and the more the poet attains to it, and comprehends it, the larger he becomes.” [...] “One of the faults which we find with her poetry is that its texture is too slight, and its interest too personal.”
> > > >
> > > > “There are eighty-seven compositions in her volume, and of these not more than three or four fulfil the conditions that are fulfilled by all true poems, and which are—unity of purpose and effect, and precision and perfection of form. Poems are complete in themselves; so complete that the life of one is no more the life of another than the life of painting is the life of sculpture, or the life or painting and sculpture is the life of music.”
> > > >
> > > > From: “The Critic,” Number 92, page 164.
> > > I think the critic's being a little harsh. Not only that, but his second remark (beginning with "If she lived less in herself...") reads like a template for Ellsworth Toohey. That, alone, is enough to place my sympathies with Miss Thomas.
> > She must have gotten better with subsequent poems.
> > >
> > > It also makes me feel that Miss Thomas and I are kindred spirits in one respect, as my own poetry is written without any regard for tastes of others. I like to think that they possess a universal message, but the messages arises out of the poem of its own accord.
> > We at first thought that she was naïve in her poem subjects and writings, but she was 30 when "A New Year's Masque and Other Poems" was published. She didn't move to New York until 1887.
> > >
> > > I also identify with her attempt to make her poem appear to have been written in an earlier period by adding the extra "e"s, addressing the leafe with "thou"s and "thy"s, using inversions, etc., as I went through my own "Medieval Period" in the 1990s.
> > Youe arte kinde.
> > >
> > > That said, I find the leafe's inversions "Me envy not" and "Me pity not" to be more akin to Tarzan-speak than faux Medieval or Elizabethan verse.. "Envy me not" and "Pity me not" retain the old fashioned inversion without suggestion that the speaker swings from trees (even if the speaker is a leafe).
> > Everything is an inversion, which doesn't read well today.
> > >
> > > The line "(I to wilde autumn’s waife did say)," is excellent: a) due to the perfectly placed alliteration, b) the concept that autumn should be "wilde," and especially c) that a fallen leafe would be "autumn's waife."
> > >
> > > The rest of the poem is practically filler by comparison. In this regard, I agree with the critic's assessment that while she possesses "many of the qualities which go to the making of poets; but, somehow or other, they do not appear to have made a poet of her." That is, she wastes a brilliant line in a mediocre poem.
> > We skimmed the book's poems at: https://babel.hathitrust.org/cgi/pt?id=loc.ark:/13960/t05x30b27&seq=26 and tend to agree with the critic. The poems lack heart and experience.
> > >
> > > And the poem is mediocre. The problem is that although the leafe is making a profound (if not original) observation, it nevertheless gives the impression that it really has nothing to say.
> > She may not have had much stimulation to write her way out of her environs. How many poems can you write about the weather in Ohio? Love for her seemed to be in the classic tales.
> > >
> > > The narrative is simple and broken into two mirrored segments, each containing an exchange between the speaker and the leafe. In the first segment, the speaker envies the budding leafe's joyful life in the sun. The leafe tells the speaker not to be envious, as she will have as joyful a life in the summer. In the second segment, the speaker pities the fallen leafe. The leafe tells the speaker not to pity it, as she, too will have a similar fate.
> > Yes, the juxtaposition was good.
> > >
> > > Had the leafe's statements been more memorably expressed, this might have been a great poem. In fact, had Miss Thomas concentrated less on having the leafe speak in an approximation of Elizabethan English, would probably have pulled it off.
> > Too late now. She does have some poems on the themes of life and death/youth and old age with which you might identify.
> >
> > We saw a particular poem in her book which started out promisingly but then petered out. We wish that she had continued in the same mood and theme throughout the poem:
> > -------------
> > Diablerie.
> > ‘Tis a night of the witches,
> > Of goblins and witches !
> > See how they hover,
> > Starting out of their niches
> > Among the black trees !
> > The moon’s ill at ease,
> > Lest the mob should have spied her,
> > And hastens to cover
> > Her face in a cloud,
> > Or diaphanous shroud,
> > Too sleazy to hide her !
> > And not only witches—
> > (Grewsome with beards)
> > Goblins and witches,
> > In all keys and pitches,
> > Chanting their weirds :--
> > Not only ghosts, jostling,
> > In yonder dim alley,
> > Where ghosts wont to rally ;
> > But I hear a low rustling
> > And whistling behind me—
> > Footsteps behind me
> > On the hard frozen ground !
> > I dare not look round,
> > Lest Terror should bind me,
> > Should chill me, and blind me,
> > And I, next morning, in marble be found !
> >
> > On it comes, lightly,
> > Over stones skipping,
> > On the turf tripping,
> > Something more sprightly
> > Than witches, I fancy--
> > Worse necromancy !
> > But, face about ;
> > Charge on the rout,
> > Whatever betide me :
> > Ah, now I see clearly,
> > ‘Tis a dead leaf, merely,--
> > A dead leaf ! no wonder
> > The moon, peering under
> > That skurrying cloud, looks out to deride me!
> >
> > --Edith M. Thomas
> I don't think it peters out so much as it reveals itself to be a whimsical piece of light verse. As such, it makes perfect sense that the speaker's mounting terror on her walk home should turn out be nothing more than a dead leaf being swept along in her wake.
>
> The last line is weak (even if one ignores the misspelling), but the overall poem is mildly amusing. It's the sort of thing one might recite to frighten children on Halloween.

On Sunday, November 5, 2023 at 4:51:21 PM UTC-5, NancyGene wrote:
> On Sunday, November 5, 2023 at 4:40:11 PM UTC-5, Ash Wurthing wrote:
> > OK, this thread was a worthwhile read-- a rarity in this place; not only for the poetry critique and commentary but I actually came away from with this thread with something that I could actually use for constructive purposes-- the bit about a perfect line being doomed in a mediocre poem.
> Thank you, Ash--our posts are Certified 100% Fresh. Don't trust those mediocre imitators who post on the same subject or poem.
> We all strive for perfect lines.

Yep and that's what we adore about you.

On Sunday, November 5, 2023 at 7:16:16 PM UTC-4, Ash Wurthing wrote:
> On Sunday, November 5, 2023 at 4:51:21 PM UTC-5, NancyGene wrote:
> > On Sunday, November 5, 2023 at 4:40:11 PM UTC-5, Ash Wurthing wrote:
> > > OK, this thread was a worthwhile read-- a rarity in this place; not only for the poetry critique and commentary but I actually came away from with this thread with something that I could actually use for constructive purposes-- the bit about a perfect line being doomed in a mediocre poem.
> > Thank you, Ash--our posts are Certified 100% Fresh. Don't trust those mediocre imitators who post on the same subject or poem.
> > We all strive for perfect lines.
> Yep and that's what we adore about you.
We are adored, or Michael is adored for his dark thoughts? Define "that" and "you" for George Dance.

On Monday, November 6, 2023 at 8:09:07 AM UTC-5, NancyGene wrote:
> On Sunday, November 5, 2023 at 7:16:16 PM UTC-4, Ash Wurthing wrote:
> > On Sunday, November 5, 2023 at 4:51:21 PM UTC-5, NancyGene wrote:
> > > On Sunday, November 5, 2023 at 4:40:11 PM UTC-5, Ash Wurthing wrote:
> > > > OK, this thread was a worthwhile read-- a rarity in this place; not only for the poetry critique and commentary but I actually came away from with this thread with something that I could actually use for constructive purposes-- the bit about a perfect line being doomed in a mediocre poem.
> > > Thank you, Ash--our posts are Certified 100% Fresh. Don't trust those mediocre imitators who post on the same subject or poem.
> > > We all strive for perfect lines.
> > Yep and that's what we adore about you.
> We are adored, or Michael is adored for his dark thoughts? Define "that" and "you" for George Dance.

Pendragon's dark word we abide by!
Concerning George, I haz words...

"O for a voice like thunder, and a tongue. To drown the throat of war! When the senses. Are shaken, and the soul is driven to madness, Who can stand?"
~~Blake

Attempting to talk sensibly to those that choose to be ignorant is quite futile really...
I could advise, but never mind- there's no enlightening self absorbed minds Hell bent upon their own designs.
SO LISTEN! While I talk to a wall
an exercise in futility, I know
But I'm sure I'm not alone
so many do so, to hear their echoes

Ignorance is bliss, isn't it?
Nothing is remiss to those imprisoned in
their warped reality of "according to me"-
the World determined by their ego's decree,
not the missed opportunities they refuse to see-
for their seas are colored by their glories

And the truth nowadays appears to be subjective and can be argued forever just like they do about the shape of the World. And you can count on it reaching ludicrous levels-- plaid is the new fad. All the boos doing themselves sounds swell, but potentially they'll be doing others in as well. So it may be futile to resist the assimilation, but it's foolish to go blindly to that awaiting cliff willingly.

So I shall not with futility, advise- it would be false wisdom, they would surmise. Unrepentant ignorance I would only chastise and would do naught to halt their demise.
-"The Wisdom of Ashes (for those who will be ashes)"

On Sunday, November 5, 2023 at 12:32:36 PM UTC-4, NancyGene wrote:
> Ms. Thomas seems to have had an attack of the ending e.
> ----------
> The Turning of The Leafe.*
>
> I.
> O HAPPY leafe
> (I to the vernal bud did say),
> Thou hast no griefe,
> Kiss’d by the loving sunne in May.
> Me envy not
> (The leafe replied),
> As sweet thy lot
> All summertide.
>
> II.
> O piteous leafe
> (I to wilde autumn’s waife did say),
> Thy pride how briefe,
> How soon the frost and wind make way !
> Me pity not
> (The leafe replied),
> As vex’d thy lot,
> As briefe thy pride.
>
> Edith M. Thomas.
> ----------
>
> *In “The Critic” Number 93, p. 174.
> “The Critic, A Literary Weekly, Critical and Eclectic.”
> Volume IV. (New Series)
> July – December, 1885
We see that George Dance is complaining about our transcription of "The Turning of The Leafe." We typed the first line ("O HAPPY leafe") exactly as "The Critic" had reproduced it, and that should have been clear to George Dance. If he can see no reason for "HAPPY" to be in all caps, he can complain to "The Critic." They also capitalized "The" in the title.

We don't know what George Dance thought was wrong with "Kiss’d by the loving sunne in May," which is exactly as "The Critic" printed it.

We acknowledge that we mistyped and put two (( in the second line, which should be "(I to the vernal bud did say"). In the third line, WORD must have changed "hast" to "has." Our most sincere apologies and thanks to George Dance for pointing out these errors.

On Sunday, November 5, 2023 at 2:07:22 PM UTC-9, Michael Pendragon wrote:
> On Sunday, November 5, 2023 at 3:59:56 PM UTC-5, NancyGene wrote:
> > On Sunday, November 5, 2023 at 2:31:45 PM UTC-5, Michael Pendragon wrote:
> > > On Sunday, November 5, 2023 at 11:58:23 AM UTC-5, NancyGene wrote:
> > > > On Sunday, November 5, 2023 at 11:32:36 AM UTC-5, NancyGene wrote:
> > > > > Ms. Thomas seems to have had an attack of the ending e.
> > > > > ----------
> > > > > The Turning of The Leafe.*
> > > > >
> > > > > I.
> > > > > O HAPPY leafe
> > > > > (( to the vernal bud did say),
> > > > > Thou has no griefe,
> > > > > Kiss’d by the loving sunne in May.
> > > > > Me envy not
> > > > > (The leafe replied),
> > > > > As sweet thy lot
> > > > > All summertide.
> > > > >
> > > > > II.
> > > > > O piteous leafe
> > > > > (I to wilde autumn’s waife did say),
> > > > > Thy pride how briefe,
> > > > > How soon the frost and wind make way !
> > > > > Me pity not
> > > > > (The leafe replied),
> > > > > As vex’d thy lot,
> > > > > As briefe thy pride.
> > > > >
> > > > > Edith M. Thomas.
> > > > > ----------
> > > > >
> > > > > *In “The Critic” Number 93, p. 174.
> > > > > “The Critic, A Literary Weekly, Critical and Eclectic.”
> > > > > Volume IV. (New Series)
> > > > > July – December, 1885
> > > > In the same publication as above, criticizing Edith Thomas's poetic ability:
> > > >
> > > > “A Curiosity of Criticism." [From “The Independent:”] “’A New Year’s Masque and Other Poems*,’ by Edith M. Thomas, is one of the most puzzling volumes, if not the most puzzling volume, of verse that we remember ever to have read." [...] “She has, in a word, many of the qualities which go to the making of poets; but, somehow or other, they do not appear to have made a poet of her. [...] We are impressed by her promise, but not by her performance.”
> > > >
> > > > For Pissbums: “If she lived less in herself, and more in others, she would be more of a poet than she is. [...] There is a larger life than pertains to any one human being, however gifted, and the more the poet attains to it, and comprehends it, the larger he becomes.” [...] “One of the faults which we find with her poetry is that its texture is too slight, and its interest too personal.”
> > > >
> > > > “There are eighty-seven compositions in her volume, and of these not more than three or four fulfil the conditions that are fulfilled by all true poems, and which are—unity of purpose and effect, and precision and perfection of form. Poems are complete in themselves; so complete that the life of one is no more the life of another than the life of painting is the life of sculpture, or the life or painting and sculpture is the life of music.”
> > > >
> > > > From: “The Critic,” Number 92, page 164.
> > > I think the critic's being a little harsh. Not only that, but his second remark (beginning with "If she lived less in herself...") reads like a template for Ellsworth Toohey. That, alone, is enough to place my sympathies with Miss Thomas.
> > She must have gotten better with subsequent poems.
> > >
> > > It also makes me feel that Miss Thomas and I are kindred spirits in one respect, as my own poetry is written without any regard for tastes of others. I like to think that they possess a universal message, but the messages arises out of the poem of its own accord.
> > We at first thought that she was naïve in her poem subjects and writings, but she was 30 when "A New Year's Masque and Other Poems" was published. She didn't move to New York until 1887.
> > >
> > > I also identify with her attempt to make her poem appear to have been written in an earlier period by adding the extra "e"s, addressing the leafe with "thou"s and "thy"s, using inversions, etc., as I went through my own "Medieval Period" in the 1990s.
> > Youe arte kinde.
> > >
> > > That said, I find the leafe's inversions "Me envy not" and "Me pity not" to be more akin to Tarzan-speak than faux Medieval or Elizabethan verse.. "Envy me not" and "Pity me not" retain the old fashioned inversion without suggestion that the speaker swings from trees (even if the speaker is a leafe).
> > Everything is an inversion, which doesn't read well today.
> > >
> > > The line "(I to wilde autumn’s waife did say)," is excellent: a) due to the perfectly placed alliteration, b) the concept that autumn should be "wilde," and especially c) that a fallen leafe would be "autumn's waife."
> > >
> > > The rest of the poem is practically filler by comparison. In this regard, I agree with the critic's assessment that while she possesses "many of the qualities which go to the making of poets; but, somehow or other, they do not appear to have made a poet of her." That is, she wastes a brilliant line in a mediocre poem.
> > We skimmed the book's poems at: https://babel.hathitrust.org/cgi/pt?id=loc.ark:/13960/t05x30b27&seq=26 and tend to agree with the critic. The poems lack heart and experience.
> > >
> > > And the poem is mediocre. The problem is that although the leafe is making a profound (if not original) observation, it nevertheless gives the impression that it really has nothing to say.
> > She may not have had much stimulation to write her way out of her environs. How many poems can you write about the weather in Ohio? Love for her seemed to be in the classic tales.
> > >
> > > The narrative is simple and broken into two mirrored segments, each containing an exchange between the speaker and the leafe. In the first segment, the speaker envies the budding leafe's joyful life in the sun. The leafe tells the speaker not to be envious, as she will have as joyful a life in the summer. In the second segment, the speaker pities the fallen leafe. The leafe tells the speaker not to pity it, as she, too will have a similar fate.
> > Yes, the juxtaposition was good.
> > >
> > > Had the leafe's statements been more memorably expressed, this might have been a great poem. In fact, had Miss Thomas concentrated less on having the leafe speak in an approximation of Elizabethan English, would probably have pulled it off.
> > Too late now. She does have some poems on the themes of life and death/youth and old age with which you might identify.
> >
> > We saw a particular poem in her book which started out promisingly but then petered out. We wish that she had continued in the same mood and theme throughout the poem:
> > -------------
> > Diablerie.
> > ‘Tis a night of the witches,
> > Of goblins and witches !
> > See how they hover,
> > Starting out of their niches
> > Among the black trees !
> > The moon’s ill at ease,
> > Lest the mob should have spied her,
> > And hastens to cover
> > Her face in a cloud,
> > Or diaphanous shroud,
> > Too sleazy to hide her !
> > And not only witches—
> > (Grewsome with beards)
> > Goblins and witches,
> > In all keys and pitches,
> > Chanting their weirds :--
> > Not only ghosts, jostling,
> > In yonder dim alley,
> > Where ghosts wont to rally ;
> > But I hear a low rustling
> > And whistling behind me—
> > Footsteps behind me
> > On the hard frozen ground !
> > I dare not look round,
> > Lest Terror should bind me,
> > Should chill me, and blind me,
> > And I, next morning, in marble be found !
> >
> > On it comes, lightly,
> > Over stones skipping,
> > On the turf tripping,
> > Something more sprightly
> > Than witches, I fancy--
> > Worse necromancy !
> > But, face about ;
> > Charge on the rout,
> > Whatever betide me :
> > Ah, now I see clearly,
> > ‘Tis a dead leaf, merely,--
> > A dead leaf ! no wonder
> > The moon, peering under
> > That skurrying cloud, looks out to deride me!
> >
> > --Edith M. Thomas
> I don't think it peters out so much as it reveals itself to be a whimsical piece of light verse. As such, it makes perfect sense that the speaker's mounting terror on her walk home should turn out be nothing more than a dead leaf being swept along in her wake.