  Charles Hanson Towne, poet of New York's many-sided life, was born at Louisville, Kentucky, February 2, 1877, the son of Professor Paul Towne. He left Kentucky before he was five years old, and he has been living in New York practically ever since. Mr. Towne was educated in the public schools of New York, and then spent a year at the College of the City of New York. He was editor of The Smart Set for several years, but he resigned this position to become literary editor of The Delineator. At the present time Mr. Towne is managing editor of The Designer, one of the Butterick publications. With H. Clough-Leighter he published two song-cycles, entitled A Love Garden, and An April Heart; and with Amy Woodforde-Finden he collaborated in the preparation of three song-cycles, entitled A Lover in Damascus, Five Little Japanese Songs, and A Dream of Egypt. His original and independent work is to be found in his three volumes of verse, the first of which was The Quiet Singer and Other Poems (New York, 1908), a collection of lyrics reprinted from various magazines; Manhattan: a Poem (New York, 1909), an epic of New York City; and Youth and Other Poems (New York, 1911), a metrical romance of domestic happiness, with a group of pleasing shorter poems. Manhattan is the best thing Mr. Towne has done so far. The poem is the life of the present-day New Yorker, the rich and the poor, the famous and the infamous, from many points of view. The poet has turned the most commonplace events of every-day life into verse of exceptional quality and much strength. As the singer of the passing show in New York City, Mr. Towne has done his best work.
SPRING [From Manhattan, a Poem (New York, 1909)] Spring comes to town like some mad girl, who runs With silver feet upon the Avenue, And, like Ophelia, in her tresses twines The first young blossoms—purple violets And golden daffodils. These are enough— These fragile handfuls of miraculous bloom— To make the monster City feel the Spring! One dash of color on her dun-grey hood, One flash of yellow near her pallid face, And she and April are the best of friends— Benighted town that needs a friend so much! How she responds to that first soft caress, And draws the hoyden Spring close to her heart, And thrills and sings, and for one little time Forgets the foolish panic of her sons, Forgets her sordid merchandise and trade, And lightly trips, while hurdy-gurdies ring— A wise old crone upon a holiday! SLOW PARTING [From Youth and Other Poems (New York, 1911)] There was no certain hour Wherein we said good-bye; But day by day, and year by year We parted—you and I; And ever as we met, each felt The shadow of a lie. It would have been too hard To say a swift farewell; You could not goad your tongue to name But better that quick death than this Glad heaven and mad hell! OF DEATH (To Michael Monahan) [From the same] Why should I fear that ultimate thing— The Great Release of clown and king? Why should I dread to take my way Through the same shadowed path as they? But can it be a shadowy road Whereon both Youth and Genius strode? Can it be dark, since Shakespeare trod Its unknown length, to meet our God; Since Shelley, with his valiant youth, Fared forth to learn the final Truth; Since Milton in his blindness went With wisdom and a high content; And Angelo lit with white flame The pathway when God called his name; And Dante, seeking Beatrice, Marched fearless down the deep abyss? Where Plutarch went, and Socrates, Browning and Keats, and such as these, Homer, and Sappho with her song That echoes still for the vast throng; Lincoln and strong Napoleon, Great Alexander, Nero—names That swept the world with deathless flames— I need not fear that I shall fall When the Lord God's great Voice shall call; For I shall find the roadway bright When I go forth some quiet night. |
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