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spondee, the second line spondee-dactyl-spondee, and the third dactyl-spondee. A Hokku must 
contain a very definite finely chiselled idea or rather, chain of ideas. Such is the strict rule, but one 
is allowed a certain degree of latitude. 
The first line announces the subject of the meditation; the second the moral reflection suggested 
thereby, and the third some epigrammatic commentary. For instance: 
BUDDHISM 
I am a petal 
Darkling, lost on the river 
Being -- Ilusion. 
We analyse this as follows: In saying "I am" one implies that one is only a detached derelict in the 
darkness of ignorance, whose essential quality is the illusion of existence. 
I wrote a double Hokku on the Hokku itself. Here it is: 
THE HOKKU 
Catch me, caress me, 
Crush me! Gather a dewdrop --- 
Star to a system! 
God in an atom! 
Comets revel around it --- 
That is a Hokku. 
{766} 
I became a frequent contributor to Vanity Fair. I can never be sufficiently grateful to Frank 
Crowinshield for his kindness and patience. My association with him is the one uniformly pleasant 
experience of dealing with editors that I can quote. He always took pains to make the most of his 
material. If a contribution did not suit him, he did not reject it without a word of explanation. He 
talked it over, and suggested modifications. I thus found out how to suit his taste without injuring 
my self-respect. Most editors drive away their best contributors by treating them like street beggars 
and leave them bewildered at the rejection. Others, again, haggle over the terms and as often as 
not delay or evade payment. They then wonder why they fail to hit the public taste. It soon goes 
around that getting a cheque from so-and-so is like fishing for sharks with a trout rod. The editor is 
tacitly boycotted. 
This and my work with Evangeline Adams kept me going through the summer. I had a glorious time, 
what with love and sea bathing. I wrote a good deal of poetry; in particular "The Golden Rose", and 
a set of lyrics, mostly sonnets to Hilarion, who appears later, in "the Urn", as "the Cat Officer". This 
woman possessed a unique atmosphere. I can only describe it as "sweetness long drawn out". This 
translated itself in terms of rhythm. I quote a typical sonnet: 
IN THE RED ROOM OF ROSE CROIX 
The bleeding gate of God unveils its rose; 
The cavernous West swallows the dragon Sun: 
Earth's darkness broods on dissolution, 
A mother-vulture, nested on Repose. 
Ah then, what grace within our girdle glows, 
To garb thy glee-gilt heart, Hilarion, 
An Alpenbluehn on our star-crested snows.