14 MAY 1927, Page 18

Poetry

The Chateau Garden

I LIE in my bed at ease,

And the black tops of the trees And the black boughs of the trees Sway in the grey night's breeze.

At touch of pale even-tide The garden colours have died, The roses and cloves have died, Sighed by a wind that sighed When lovers, long-ago dead, Brought rosemary to my bed, And pale evening to my be Brought cypresses instead.

0 Ghosts long out of mind, What whispered you to the wind ? What secrets stored in the wind— For those unborn to find ?

ALFRED TRESIDDER SIIEPPARD.