The Seven Arts!
As I sat in my beautiful office, they came: the poets, the writers, the artists:
I grew to know all of them.

It was a warm thing, a beautiful—that magazine …
Van Wyck joined us, and he and Waldo and I
Hugged the damp copies every month,
And loved it.

Not a state in the Union but bought us, and far Japan,
And China and Australia, Capetown and Paris,
Received our Word.

Rolland had written for our first number
Naming Walt Whitman our Homer, forerunner of our Golden Age,
Our Periclean America. . . .
But we caught from him a vision of youth,
Youth to save the world from embattled age,
The Young World bringing Art, and through Art, Peace. . . .

There was Young Ireland, and Young Japan, and Young India,
We caught their words into printer's ink and spread them abroad.

I staggered between power and poetry:
We were fast becoming national and international. . . .
But I longed for song, and wondered: Am I an editor?