15 DECEMBER 1928, Page 22

The Stallion

THE grey grass in the early winter Stiffens and crinkles up for cold : The air withers the big hemlocks And bracken fronds are brown and old.

" Where is the world ? said the black stallion And shook his head : and stamped in wonder : " Where is the world ? I smell battle,

I hear shouting and hooves' thunder."

Over the frozen field he clatters To reach the tilne his bones remember.

Poor stallion ! There's nothing here But a bare hedge and bleak December. A. P;