The headlining Yeats poem is the most interesting part of a more-tepid Poetry. Yeats' The Two Kings is the sort of magical Irish mythology that he's so famous for in 1913. The story hinges on the husband-king forgiving the queen-wife for magically-induced infidelity, and has some really great lines in it.
Harriet Monroe's essay about the Panama Canal is very excited, but not particularly exciting to me.
Alice Corbin Henderson reviews Child of the Amazons by Max Eastman of The Masses, her verdict: meh.
Ezra Pound has the guts to summarize his essays on Paris and mention the originals in The New Age, which of course has been panning each one as it appears. His apparent lack of concern over the combined efforts of the editors of TNA is striking.
Boring post, sorry.
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