27 AUGUST 1932, Page 11

Poetry

To Clare

TELL her that when I love her I possess Not beauty merely, or its sensitive play Upon her face and limbs : that is her dress, But, ah, how shortly to be put away.

Tell her these eyes for beauty should be fain To close, having feasted so upon its prime, That when I love her past all loss or gain, I am in love with Time.

She shall not have her fill of me, nor I Of her. Happier and better thus, Tell her I'll be contented when we lie