... A New Poem by V. H. Friedlaender Last night I went to dinner with a friend. He was not home from town his train was late. A servant left me in a large chill room, An unused room on which the dark crept down. Beyond gaunt window-panes the garden lay Grey in the dusk, old, palsied with the wind And beyond that stark, haunted forest trees Gibbered and shook with desolate, countless age. Dust, ...

... THE ROMAN ROAD-- A Day-Dream A New Poem. By BRYCE McM ASTER. Vaulted blue where a white cloud passes A ribbon of road that lifts to the sky Bowing the heads of the long grey grasses The sharp, sweet wind of the downs goes by. It sweeps the blossom, it swings the briars, Dog-daisies, scabious mauve and strong The weathered posts and the high bright wires Throb and shrill to an elfin song. Over ...

... . A New Poem by G. M. Hort. I. In the core of the woods, a keeper found him All day, afield, did the loud pack hound him. But, quiet, the night and the trees closed round him. II. He lay like one whose repose was studied. His limbs were whole, and his head unbloodied, And the fine red pelt of him scarcely muddied. III. What fears long braved had that death-doom spoken! What desperate course ...

... . By Lucy Masterman. Through the wide valley the streams are flowing, Glitter and sing under the bridges, Starred with flowers, leaping and gay. Sweetly the waters rustle and whisper Drink and be glad, drink and be solaced. But my steps turn to the dark river. Under steep banks it pours unshining; Swift and silent, dark, without music Blossomless grasses stand by the brim. Songless birds dip ...

... A New Poem by MARY WEBB The fox-glove bells, with lolling tongue. Will not reveal what peals were rung In Faery, in Faery, A thousand ages gone. All the golden clappers hang As if but now the changes rang, Only from the mottled throat Never any echoes float. Quite forgotten in the wood Pale, crowded steeples rise All the time that they have stood None has heard their melodies. Deep, deep in ...

... Early on a white day When stillness breathed and air Was cloud, through rimy, bare Meadows of upland grass I took my thoughtless way. And on a sudden, behold Above, the virgin blue 1 Blue, bathing my heart through 1 A shock of blueness bright Pierced with an eye of gold 1 And there uprising tall From mist to warm sapphire And straight as windless fire A poplar stood alone, White, dream-fresh, ...

... THE MEMORIAL SHRINE, WESTMINSTER A Poem on the Proposed War Shrine at Westminster (see Illustrations in The Sphere April 5) Here to the Isle of Thorney, where of old The fishers heard St. Peter's pilgrim cry, And saw their lowly shrine mysteriously Lit by the wings of ange's manifold, Come other angels, who for Beauty bold Will light a nobler shrine with memory, Will give Peace homes beneath a ...

... . By Everard Owen Ji|j There is a hill in England, fS&> Green fields and a school I fwlj know, jljFg! Where the balls fly fast in sum- □jjjc mer, LVjc And the whispering elm trees fJvi grow. JAJS A little hill, a dear hill, Wyvl And the playing-fields below. There is a hill in Flanders, Heaped with a thousand slain, Where the shells fly night and noontide And the ghosts that died in vain. A ...

... OFTEN WHEN WARRING. By Thomas Hardy. Often when warring for he wist not what, An enemy-soldier, passing by one weak, Has tendered water, wiped the burning cheek, And cooled the lips so black and clammed and hot Then gone his way, and maybe quite forgot The deed of grace amid the roar and reek; Yet larger vision than the tongue can speak He thus has reached, although he has known it not. For ...

... Spring, 1906 Dlacken'd with fog and smoke and grime, Bare trunks, all winter long, they stand, Elm, chestnut, sycamore, and lime, In sullen ranks, a dismal band. Outcasts from light and joy they seem, And brooding in a fix'd despair, Like ruin'd wastrels. Who would dream The sap of spring was stirring there Sweet buds of April rift the bark, Thrust forth once more your spikes of green, And ...

... By Geoffrey Dearmer We mourn for you. Because you will not be seen Any more, a snatch of the sunset against the white sky, Your wings a snatch of the sea 'gainst the grey and the green Of willows and water. Because now, many will die Before they have seen 'gainst the grey and the green A kingfisher fly. We mourn for you. Because you will be seen Still and stuffed who knows what others between ...

... Recreation, by Jane Taylor, the Author of Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star. Illustrated by Charles E. Brock. We took our work, and went, you see, To take an early cup of tea. We did so now and then, to pay The friendly debt--and so did they. Not that our friendship burnt so bright That all the world could see the light, 'Twas of the ordinary genus, And little love was lost between us. We loved, ...