14 AUGUST 1897, Page 17

POETRY.

THE LURE.*

Coin hither and behold them, Sweet—

The fairy prow that o'er me rides, And white sails of a lagging Fleet On idle tides.

Come hither and behold them, Sweet—

The lustrous gloom, the vivid shade, The throats of love that burn and beat And shake the glade.

Come, for the hearts of all things pine, And all the paths desire thy feet, And all this beauty asks for thine,