Poems
Lewis, May & Childe, Wilfred & Moore, Catherine & Marconnier, Byrne & Reeves, W. P. & Leonard, Dorothy
'^Remembrance A night of watching stars and tides That whispered in the dark; Do you remember how we turned Into the silent park? I wonder now, across the world. If there are other gems As...
...CATHERINE MOORE...
...Some napery and spice For house...
...We find no shadows in a moonless gloom, But find them only when the skies are clear...
...Or follow him folk-gathering in fear Lest that old thane be gone who knew the ways Their grandfathers had trod, could sing the lays Of pagan demon and the haunted mere...
...By the North Sea, in fog and rime and ice, Rough sheepskin saved the treasure of his art For me to ponder on the pure in heart...
...If there are other gems As richly set, in tangled spars, Above the River Thames...
...By flowing water Sycamore scarves Flutter their laces To willow rain...
...How did this rise from such a dark embedding ? What underground and sinister black wedding Produced the thorn, that offspring of the nettle...
...WILFRED CHILDE...
...cTpcust Leaves Elm and maple The Maker carves In solid finials Above His fane...
...By day the light has never wholly won...
...only the sun...
...W. P. REEVES...
...His legacy...
...Incense spired from drenching roses...
...We watch the summer and the summer's doom, And mark the mists that eat the golden sphere...
...When the summer rain was falling In the sweetest month of all...
...As where my grey ghost wanders still Within an empty park...
...and for incense, many a tome That carried light and learning down to Rome...
...The perfumed breathings, like an incense burning— The daisy's narrow path makes better turning Than the thick mazes of the swaying roses...
...And all our shade is shallow as a dream— A grey wraith mirrored in the Stygian stream...
...Soaking the thick grass in gems Of bright raindrops, like the falling Of aerial anadems— In the wistful land of Belem, When the evening brought the rain...
...DOROTHY LEONARD...
...Poplars are lances That splinter through The floor of heaven...
...And turns from what their pagan rite discloses...
...None marry the blue Blossom of summer Like locust leaves...
...I wonder, off in Belfast town, If there is any tide To smell as salt, to lisp as low— To open arms as wide . . . And if you now go loitering Down paths as sweet with dark...
...Too overwhelming is the beauty proffered, The mystery, the langorous unfolding Of secrets that are not for man's beholding...
...We never knew a white and shadeless noon: Behind the house, beneath the tree, the dark Laughs at the cock and at the distant lark That cry the day is here and it is June...
...The pink, curved flesh of velvet-textured petal...
...Bede I hke to think of Bede the pioneer Bending the Vulgate to a Saxon phrase, Hoarding his vellum, cherishing the days On either side Saint John's Eve, and his cheer...
...Beauty smote me, sharp as pain...
...MAY LEWIS...
...The heavy heads, the indolent, proud poses...
...As one might be who in a forest clearing Finds sudden nymphs advancing, disappearing...
...In the country rich with flowers...
...An oak-tree cleaves With saw-edge shining...
...Earth-knowledge that the hills hold safely coffered...
...At dusk the purples triumph, and they creep, Like ether, over earth and bring a sleep...
...BYRNE MARCONNIER...
...IJertige So close they lean—I am afraid of roses...
...zy^fVisi Amid Roses In the pleasant land of Belem Underneath the Abbey wall...
...In the mid-June of deep roses...
...When the evening brought the falling Of a multitude of showers, Dashing perfume from the roses...
...hadows Shadows never go...
Vol. 6 • June 1927 • No. 7
