24 FEBRUARY 1923, Page 16

POETRY.

SAYS THE MUSE TO ME, SAYS SHE.

You are a little tiny man Infinitely- tinier than A money-spider, carefully Noting down upon your cuff

What you see and what you think—

Niggling little timid stuff I I'd have my poets take to drink, Stutter, stammer, stagger, bawl The 'mighty; praise and joy in all Things create and uncreate, A boisterous exultant spate Of wild and glorious driven words.

Tiny man, be drunk with me And stammer at immensity Well, ma'am, I hardly think I can Follow promptly what you teach.

But, if you'll wait, then by and by When cuff and care have wrought a speech, I'll drink my deepest, and I'll try 1

L. A. G. STRONG.