17 MARCH 1923, Page 13

POETRY.

—0— ADAM.

MY spirit drowsed within his den, His den of dull desires and scorns, And blunted hopes, fond foul regrets— Dark miry woods of poison thorns.

Those antique toads, old passions, crawled Upon my bones with breathing chill ; A torpid snake within my breast Couched Adam's wanton wasting will.

—Drowsed, drowsed. Till Eve came breaking through The red-tongued thorn and virgin bud, And leaned her warmth against my stone, And quick'd with hers this Adam's blood.

_ JOHN FREEMAN.