... A New Poem by Oscar Lloyd Amid the rattle of the rails, the 'buses' fret and jar, No sight or sound distracted them, their eyes serene and far; They trod the roads of Hammersmith with sure unhasting feet The heart of tropic mystery within an English street. From reedy swamps of Africa, from jungles of the East, What lands have known their wanderings What forests made their feast To them the ...

... I hear one knock as none have knocked before Ho! there without who knocks? Open the door I would abide here. Say, by whose decree What Warrant hast thou All who dwell with me Came hither royally. Then shouldst thou, indeed, Make haste to open. Name thy name Men know me not by name, but I am he For whom this house was built. The wise, the great, The brave with honoured names, brought here in ...

... L1LACTIDE IN DRESDEN Grey streets and rosy hawthorn trees, A sky of Saxon blue, Green gardens in the city's heart, The fountains' iris dew. Great gusts of sweetness storm the town, The lilacs take the wind, Above a wall the sun flecks gold A birch-tree's argent rind. Last week the hills in silver mist Of cherry bloom were sheen, Then came a lashing cuckoo storm Pan's hoof amid the green K. L. ...

... OUR POETS' CORNER NOCTURNE Oh, fled away is the light of day, And the sunset glows are over The stars shine bright in the fields of night, The dew on the banks of clover. And the moon from the clouds is peeping, Like a sweet pale ghost out creeping, That steals through the empty night and watches her children sleeping. Anne Mackenzie ...

... i. Round this grey inn the light at last is misting, The evening tide begins to fringe the shore. T were late for you and me to make a trysting Or join our hands once more. As strangers we should meet I should not know you, With no word said we both should quit the spot, Yet one unerring sign to me would show you You'd be what I am not. II. If I, by chance, should speak of my repenting My ...

... This lovely sunset with its flame and passion That only One could fashion, Ho'd Thou my heart and pierce my every sense With measures of His vast omnipotence: Ho'd me in wonder, I His earthborn thrall, For the glory of the Lord is all in all. TWO POEMS BY MRS, THOMAS HENRY HUXLEY ...

... Waste not Thy pity, dear my G-od, On us who cry at leisure To pray Thee spare th' avenging rod On some loved earthly treasure For though we dread and fear its loss It still is ours we bear no cross. Or in the moment of our doom When what we love is taken, With such a cry across the gloom As finds the angels shaken, We are incredulous of grief As long as protest brings relief. But when we stand ...

... 1 stood in a garden in my life s June, Where flowers grew tall and fair Every flower that I loved well Grew and blossomed there. For me, I say, they had been sown, To call and bind in posies; Thrushes sang, and the butterflies Plashed on the crimson roses. There were bowers of lily and banks of rose And the speedwell's perfect blue I had sown heart' s-ease and honesty, Yet I only gathered rue. ...

... Men say a King is born on earth to-night, And kings are on their way to honour Him Amazed shepherds mutter of a light That stirred their witless folds when all was dim, And someone passing by a little shed Heard someone singing Gloria, he said. Far off, where sleeps the dust of Babylon, Three wanderers are spurring through the snow; One on a white horse, on a black horse one, And one upon a ...

... THE TOWN MAJOR An Interesting and Important Personage on the THE TOWN MAJOR From The Listening Pott, one of the trench news papers published at the front.) I am the Town Major of A spot all and sundry abuse. You'll agree, I am sure, It is no sinecure To be the Town Major of I am monarch of all I survey My rule none dare disobey. I've a plentiful line Of dug-outs, in fine, Deep dug-cuts are my ...

... Autumn Are you dreaming of the summer that is past, Or the spring that is to come Bramble leaf and thorn,' And the bracken's silver sheen, She came thro' the mist of the morn In her petticoat of green. A little moorland linnet, Who had left her nest that day, To find the voice that called her In the woodland far away. Her gift of love she gave him, Their hearts were light and gay They flew ...

... . A New Poem by C. FOX SMITH. She hauled through the dock gates when morning was young, And cold on the reaches the river mist hung, And the chaps on the pierhead all shouted Hurray For the stately Blackwaller bound Eastward away. Her captain he walked on his poop like a lord, They piped the side handsome when he came aboard She had mates half-a-dozen in brassbound array, The stately ...