and remind him, with a womanly pride that all men love, that it was she who invented his submission. And I heard her breathe over the folds of her homeland with words of esteem and exaltation, hailing its tomorrow and hastening its returning glory! And I heard her also crown her brother the soldier with halos of thanks, praising and encouraging.

As for Dr. Talat al-Rifai, her post has not closed to her the door of "coquettish" poetry... for in Damascus, as in Paris, she has her haunts and her wanderings...

She recited for us "Cheek to My Cheek," as though keeping pace in it with a pampered French melody. I applauded this good love verse, and the poetess smiled, recalling that this poem had won the applause of many — among them the Sheikh, Professor Maarouf al-Dawalibi!

My share of the talk was to answer Mr. Jazairi's question: what is my opinion of the modern school in poetry? I recall that I answered: there is no single school... but schools — or rather classes, branches, and divisions! Some keep pace with the authen-tic progressive wave... and some follow the currents of the West with a following that cannot help but limp. As for liberated verse, I fear it once — and I fear for it many times over — from the tyranny of prose.

We must not be lax about poetry, for laxity is cheap at times and may shorten the distance between it and plain, casual prose.

Let us guard the nest of poetry!

And here another question awaited me, coming at me from every side: how is Aphrodite? What sweetness in her poetry, said Mrs. Thuraya... it is mead-ows of feeling. I answered her at once... and that is what keeps Edvick's poetry from pooling in the depths of familiar prose. So I say: in your love, Edvick, there is a well-guarded art. And

we agreed in the end that her "outpouring" remains fragrant.

I said at the outset that Mrs. Hafiz has more than one task to occupy her. She is also president of the Soldier's Welfare Association. She told us of the works of this association of hers, and of its members' continual visits to the soldiers on the front lines. Through the crack of the door of the adjoining room I glimpsed a wall of white card-board boxes. Our lady soon let me in on her secret: they are full of

assorted gifts, to be distributed to the soldiers on the coming visit. And at that, the company present could do no less than donate gifts for those faithful guardians.

The stay in Mrs. Thuraya's salon grew long... time called me away and its shortness defied me... after eye and ear had feasted on colors and orbs of human goodness.

O Damascus! I used to love you with a single love... and today, at the "Sukayna Forum," I hold for you two loves...