ALL THAT SUNLIGHT

On a succession of sparkling, surprising pages appears a series of bad, bad poems. The cliches of juvenile nature verse are exhumed and exhibited in lines without cadence, in stanzas without meter, in sentiments that reek of adult sentimentality and whimsy...all of which means a waste of Walter Stein's imaginative drawings, his sharp lines and soft washes and spots and squiggles.