... A WHIT-SUN SONG Brightly comes the morn over dew-pearled meadows, White shine the stars in the hawthorn brake, Tender rise the mists from the night-hung shadows, Starling, thrush, and blackbird pipe the day awake. Then heart, O, my heart from the morning take thy brightness, Drive the dark of doubt with its shades away Calm and clear and cool in the morning's whiteness, Take thy meed of ...

... By Walter Sichel Around yon ivied belfry met, Dim owls their watch of omen set, And imps of darkness hoarsely cried Their curses as the Old Year died: Begone, they shrieked, accursed thing And, should the bells miswelcome sing Round the false cradle of a babe Who here awaits Time's astrolabe, We drown them. Old this Year is born, A waif unsunned by any morn. Hunted and hunchback lo he lies, ...

... . By Dorothy Margaret Stuart. Little Brothers cowled in blue, Tell me, now, what is't you do, When you leave your winter cells All the summer morning through We tell our beads and ring our bells. Little monk with beard o' gold, What do you, when your beads are told, All the summer afternoon Lo, a singing-class I hold Where bees may learn to hum in tune. Little monk with purple frill, Portly as ...

... A New Poem by James H. Mosey Have you not heard them calling, calling, In the twilight grey, While the dews are falling, falling With the close of day Have you not seen them fleeting, fleeting, Woolly, white as ghosts, When the elves are meeting, greeting, In their fairy hosts? Have you not felt them sighing, sighing, 'Neath some shelt'ring rock. When the wind is crying, dying. Round the ...

... . By Lady Margaret Sackville. Nothing remains, No perfume clings. Of all these rains And all these Springs Nor of that beauty Which none knew So well to wear As I could do Gone, gone, all gone: Soft-scented rain, Song, beauty. Spring And my disdain! ...

... if y ^yyp[V^S^^; II 111 YT£EraTI!I3& _ n Pietro was a Circus ftar, if I His Strong'Man ad was known afar. He used to balance on his head M/O His wife, four sons and Uncle Ted. rjSj Yet often, waiting in the wings, Pietro longed for Bigger Things. He would not reft till he could be Supporting all the family. jy But nothing that he tried could give Him ftrength for one more relative, jmfi One ...

... . By Louis Golding If God annulled all meadows, Ordaining these should be Divided between cities And the glutted sea, Should men by slow gradations Grow black and slim like eels, Or find their urban ankles Had sprouted into wheels And you might find it pleasant To slide in the lush ooze, And you might wear with rapture Wheels instead of shoes. But I should these things happen These dire events ...

... . [From 44 Play Production for Everyone by Mo?iica Ewer.) A high hat is a help for the fat. The duke uses his index-finger, the dog- stealer uses his thumb. The late Louis Calvert considered that an actor should be able to speak in about two octaves. Mr. Somerset Maugham said that he never allowed two laughs straight on. top of each other in his dialogue. In falling, be careful not to get too ...

... Not by John Keats) 0 what can ail thee alderman, Around the City loitering? The last Tube train has westward gone, Twelve's ringing. 1 met a lady in Cheapside A peach, indeed that little vamp A City typist once I knew, Mae Murray stamp. We took a taxi to the Troc, And chatted of the days of yore, And there I ordered tea for two, With cakes galore. And there while we enjoyed a gorge, And she ...

... OUR POETS' CORNER IN THE CRYSTAL Dear heart, he said, this vision comes to me I see a ship that sails a sun-kissed sea Seeking a far, new land And when I think of this I think of thee And Love that conquers all and liberty To journey hand in hand. What dost thou see A woman on a dreary shore, said she, 'Mid blinding drifts of sand With Love that conquers all, and liberty Alone to stand. ...

... i will not call you when the wind Calls you impatiently at night Nor yet when shadows, stealthy and blind, Seek you in vain through the twilight Nor when waste waters breathe your name These find you not how should I find You who are but wind and flame, Where move you now Your noiseless feet On some mute pilgrimage inclined, Tread what haunted terraces, 'Mongst the ghosts there, yourself a ...

... Fire shall absolve thee. Thy immense delays. Thy silent, bleak, unmemorable days. All thy waste words, thy passions come to nought, The pauses and limitations of thy thought, Shall in one blast of windy rapture glow Such a flame as only those altars know Which the very god's secret, still, silent breath Touches, and the dark ashes leap from death! So thy feet wearying and thy hands which long ...