19 MAY 1933, Page 11

On the Downs

ONLY the harebells and the turf are near;

The bumble booms, beseeching all around- - Hark the eternal, hot, insistent sound— Even the flints to rouse themselves and hear. But only more of peace her bumbling seems To give their desolation, give my dreams.

Surely, one indistinguishable day A Roman sentinel, when times were slack, Heard the high larks, and lay upon his back ;

And heard the brown, unceasing bumble say How but for her the sky itself would fall,

And then he slept in the sun and dreamed of Gaul.

FRANCES CORNFORD.