27 DECEMBER 1919, Page 14

POETRY.

CLOUDS OF GLORY.

WHEN may I ever hope to see

A sight like my first Christmas Tree?

I came in from the dark and cold Prepared for gifts and games foretold, But not for that new sense in me Of brightness and immensity.

Sweeter than frankincense and myrrh The burning sharpness of the fir; Each lighted candle was a dart Piercing with unimagined art; The sugar angel at the top Attacked my heart and made it stop; The drawing-room became a place Swimming in hushed and starry space. • • .

Time scatters dust on me and mine; The tree—the tree is still divine !

Can earth repeat that rapturous gleam, Or heaven prove such a heavenly dream?

V. H. FRIEDLAEN DLR.