1 JUNE 1929, Page 21

Poetry

But What is That ?

THE weeds are rank,

The grass uncut, The vines swing wild,

The door is shut ; The clock has stopped, Stark is the bed, The fire's out,

My love is dead—

But what is that ?

In here I Out there!

Was that the wind Along the stair ?

Was that a hand That stirred the curtain ?

Was that a laugh ?

I am not certain- Loye ! Are you there?

Or is it only that I am mad As well as lonely ?

ELIEA,HETLI HOLLISTER FROST.