May Sarton in her earlier collections of poetry, such as The Lion and the Rose and The Land of Silence, established herself as one of our most delightfully sensitive poets. In this, her latest volume, she has overreached herself to a certain extent. Many of the poems lack the immediacy of her earlier work. She seems to be striving for a more complex metaphysical statement but does not always bring off the attempt. There are exceptions, such as A Celebration a lovely poem dedicated to her father, very direct and simple. Or the title poem, more subtle but equally successful. Some of the sonnets are exquisite and the translations from the French interesting. Most of these poems have already appeared in Harper's The New Yorker, or the little reviews and poetry magazines. This dish is worth savoring, even if it isn't a wholly satisfying repast.