21 JUNE 1940, Page 10

THE RAPIDS

GRIEVE must my, heart. Age fleeteth by. No longing can stay Time% torrent now. Once would the sun in Eastern sky Pause on the solemn mountain's brow! Arches he yet of flowers may bring, Though day approaches evening ; But, ah, how swift their withering!

The birds, that used to sing, sang then As if in an eternal day ;

Even sweeter yet their grace notes, when

Farewell . . . farewell, is theirs to say.

Yet, as a thorn its drop of dew Treasures in shadow, crystal clear, All that I loved I love anew, Now parting draweth near.

WALTER DE LA MARE.