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Evans, Mildred (ed.) / Wisconsin literary magazine
Volume XVIII, Number 2 (November 1918)

Felix, Marion
Ibsen and the younger generation,   pp. 40-43


Meyer, Ernest
When you were a tadpole,   p. 43


Page 43

WISCONSIN LITERARY MAGAZINE
43
time. One looks deep into the hearts of actual men
and women, struggling against society and against
each other. When youth has seen things as they
are, brutal or inspiring, gross or heavenly, and has
thought far enough to reach a conclusion, that youth
has a new weapon. And weapons in the hands of the
younger generation forge the future.
In these days of war and outrage and suffering, we
are fighting, young men and young women of the pres-
ent, for a freedom of the nations in which the highest
spiritual mental and moral freedom of the individual
may be attainable. And we are fighting, for the pres-
ent at least, not one or two alone as Ibsen's men with
vision fight, but altogether, bound by a common deter-
mination that the lies of the past, now finding expres-
sion in the horrors of the present, may be crushed for
all time; that the ideals of truth, courage and liberty,
which have moved the finer youth of all times may be
greatly realized by us and by our sons and daughters.
Ibsen, more than any other dramatist of the past cen-
tury has fought for those ideals. And to us his last
word is this: "Realize in your own souls the stern real-
ity of life; look deeper and beyond it. Will the im-
possible, it does not matter if you perish".
MARION FELIX
When You Were A Tadpole
When you were a tadpole and I was a fish
In the caves of the long ago,
I longed for a playmate; I had my wish-
Together we swam to and fro
In the jungle of weeds where the minnows played;
In the castle of jewels that the corals made;
In the shadowy haunts of a deep-sea glade
Where the purple polyps grow.
We had never a sorrow and never a wish,
And never a moment of woe,
When you were a tadpole and I was a fish
In the caves of the long ago.
When you were a tadpole and I was a fish
In the vault of a deep-sea night,
We ate and we drank from a pink, coral dish.
And slept where the shoals were white.
We heard the harp that the mermaids strum;
And the mystic tunes that the currents hum;
And the muffled tap of a clamshell drum
From the field where the swordfish fight.
And we supped again from our coral dish
And awaited the coming of light,
When you were a tadpole and I was a fish
In the vault of a deep-sea night.
When you were a tadpole and I was a fish
In the blue of a deep-sea day,
We awoke and we heard the lisping and wish!
Of the baby waves at play.
And we heeded the call of the siren romance,
And swam far out where the nixies dance
In a city of foam that is held in a trance
By the magical spell of a fay.
We are playmates still, but I. sometimes wish,
As I walk near the rim of a bay,
That you were a tadpole and I was a fish
In the blue of a deep-sea day.
ERNEST MEYER.
November, 1918


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