The Second Book of Modern Verse: A Selection from the Work of Contemporaneous American Poets

In Short

This anthology serves as a curated time capsule, assembling American poetry published roughly between 1913 and 1919. By focusing on the "contemporaneous"—the poets actively shaping the landscape during those tumultuous years—the editor provides an intimate look at the transition between traditional forms and the emerging modern style. Because it favors typical work over exhaustive representation, the collection functions as a vivid cross-section of the era’s concerns, from the pastoral beauty of the American countryside to the sudden, jarring shadows cast by the Great War.

The Story

The collection begins with a quiet, contemplative focus on the natural world, emphasizing the enduring, almost sacred relationship between the American landscape and the observer. Poets here see the woods and streams not merely as scenery, but as mirrors for the human spirit—places where one might encounter the divine or, more simply, find a moment of respite from the pressing anxieties of the day. There is a strong sense of place, from the dogwood-laden springs of North Carolina to the quiet, rolling hills of Carmel, grounding the reader in a landscape that feels both deeply familiar and freshly discovered.

As the anthology progresses, the mood shifts. The intrusion of the Great War, referred to with a somber, heavy gravity, begins to permeate the poems. The optimism of early spring scenes is increasingly punctuated by the realization of loss and the fragility of life. Writers begin to grapple with the "winter wild with war and woe," turning their eyes toward the "lonely place" where the dead are buried. The simple, lighthearted rhythms of the opening section are replaced by more complex, shadowed reflections. Dreams are no longer just fancies but are often "pitiful freight," and the landscape of the mind becomes as scarred as the battlefields of Europe.

Despite this encroaching darkness, the collection does not abandon hope. Instead, it redefines it. The later poems find a kind of courage in the act of endurance. They speak to the necessity of building new homes, raising families, and continuing to plant seeds even while acknowledging the "dreadful 'Never'" that loss introduces into every life. The arc concludes with a series of meditations on memory and the afterlife, suggesting that while individuals pass on, they leave behind an "archaic wistfulness" or a "hope beyond surcease." The final movement is one of stoic acceptance, where the poet, standing on an "unstable star," chooses to tie a tie, comb hair, and dedicate the morning to the quiet, persistent tasks of existence. It is a movement from the wide-eyed wonder of the observer to the determined, if weary, wisdom of the participant.

How It Unfolds

The pastoral opening The collection opens by establishing a reverent connection to nature, where trees and birds serve as intermediaries between the earth and the divine. These early poems emphasize the capacity for simple, observant joy in the presence of seasonal renewal.

The shift toward introspection The focus turns inward as the poets begin to question the reliability of their own senses. The metaphor of the "five-sensed cane" highlights the difficulty of truly seeing the world, moving the reader from external observation to internal search.

The arrival of the war’s shadow The tone darkens as the realities of conflict enter the verses. The poems begin to contrast the peace of domestic life—gardens, homes, and lovers—against the stark, "terrible bareness" of soldiers dying in distant lands.

The synthesis of grief and duty The final section balances the weight of personal loss against the demands of the present. The poets argue for a kind of daily, rhythmic grace, where one continues to live and work with purpose despite the looming presence of mortality.

The People

The figures inhabiting these poems are, more than anything, watchers and wanderers. There is the "young man" who grows weary of talk, yearning for the silent, intuitive connection of the natural world. There is the "modern" woman in her brocaded gown, trapped by the stiff patterns of her own life, who longs to cast off her constraints and run free into the shade. We also meet the "men of Harlan," who ride in single file through a strange, wide world, representing the stubborn, solitary endurance of those who come from the rugged, narrow trails of the mountains.

Other central figures include the father, Old King Cole, who navigates the disappointment of his own children with a quiet, smoking urbanity; he represents the capacity to remain whole when the world offers only "disastrous heirs." We see the soldiers, such as the man who acknowledges his "rendezvous with Death" as a duty to be met with grace rather than fear. Finally, there is the figure of the poet himself, like Senlin, who stands before his mirror every morning. He is a person who understands the cosmic scale of his existence—that he lives on a "swiftly tilting planet"—yet he chooses to perform the small, steady rituals of the day, proving that humanity is defined as much by its humble, repetitive acts as by its grandest dreams.

In Its Own Voice

I think that I shall never see A poem lovely as a tree.

Joyce Kilmer begins his meditation on the natural world by contrasting the artifice of human creation with the inherent, God-given beauty of the forest.

I have a rendezvous with Death At some disputed barricade, When Spring comes back with rustling shade.

Alan Seeger articulates the grim, inevitable promise made by a soldier who knows that his life will likely be claimed at the height of the season’s beauty.

It is morning, I stand by the mirror And surprise my soul once more; The blue air rushes above my ceiling, There are suns beneath my floor.

Conrad Aiken captures the daily, disorienting experience of waking up to a world that is simultaneously vast, terrifying, and mundane.

What It's Really About

The central argument of this collection is that beauty and tragedy are not binary opposites but are woven into the same fabric of human experience. The poems collectively ask how one can maintain a sense of purpose when the world is prone to sudden "war and woe." They suggest that the answer lies in the "old heartbreak"—a refinement of grief that allows for the creation of something lasting. The book is an exploration of the "dreamer" who must find a way to reconcile the "lyric sap" of the heart with the harsh, indifferent reality of "unstable stars" and "dreadful never." It is a testament to the persistent human need to find order and meaning in the face of inevitable change.

Why Read It Today

Readers who appreciate the quiet, reflective pace of early 20th-century literature will find much to admire here. This is not a collection of loud, declarative manifestos; it is a book of whispers, sharp observations, and careful, rhythmic craftsmanship. To read it is to feel the heartbeat of a generation that was just beginning to understand the scale of the modern world. You will encounter the difficulty of a vocabulary and a set of social assumptions rooted firmly in 1919—there are occasional, stilted period phrasings—but these serve as an authentic record of the time rather than a barrier.

The book excels at portraying the tension between the desire for freedom and the comfort of the "bound" life. It lingers in the mind because it does not offer easy answers to the questions of mortality or purpose. Instead, it leaves you with the image of the person at the mirror: the individual who knows that the "sky is darkened" as they descend the stairs, yet who continues to hum a tune they know. It is a profoundly humanizing read, perfect for anyone who values poetry that functions as both a sanctuary and a mirror, offering a steady, rhythmic companionship in times of uncertainty.