24 JUNE 1922, Page 14

MAGPIE BOTTOM.

CLASPED in these quiet hills the valley Iies-

As if the fingers of a giant Should ring a jade-green cup, brimmed with blue air.

. . . 0 through what aeons now hath slept This silent giant, that the plumed trees Like seaweeds wave within his cup

And birds, like fish, glide in its sparkling air ? Over the grassy hollow move

With quiet--as the sea-folk move—shy creatures And never football comes . . .

Aeons have passed and what dark aeons more Shall pass, till he awake and toss

This gleaming brittle cup to the vast void.

C. Maxey Waname.