15 FEBRUARY 1913, Page 19

POETRY.

SORROW.

MY sorrow; 0 my sorrow, when first you came to rest Crouched huddling on my hearthstone. I held you to my breast And cuddled and caressed you, and rocked you o'er and o'er, My sorrow, like a baby that creeps upon the floor !

I showed yon to my neighbours, I made you rhymes to sing, For I was proud to have you, the delicate small ihing; And so I nursed you always, till you are come to-day, My sorrow, like a tiger tense-crouching for his prey.

For silently and swiftly, my sorrow, you have grown Till you are waxed so dreadful I dare not be alone,

Alone I dare not face yon, lest I be slain outright—

I pray you, monster sorrow; to sheathe your claws to-night!

DOROTHEA: MACKELLAR.