20 MARCH 1926, Page 17

POETRY

THE DAFFODILS

Tins is the orchard where the daffodils swung O'er the bright-sweeping grass darkness creating

By their own very light ; . where birds have sung.

So many Springs so joyously ; I seem waiting

Even now for their notes, tho' Summer has wrought among

The crooked trees a silence. Now I lament The singing ways of the birds ; but my mind, content

Sees the daffodils leaning one golden way as .I pass . . .

And darkness, flower-like, comes to the long bright grass.

- M. M. JOHNSON.