27 DECEMBER 1940, Page 11

NIGHT IN MARTINDALE

NOT in the sound of water, the air's noise,

The roar of storm, the ominous birds, the cries, The angel here speaks with a human voice.

Stone into man must grow, the human word Carved by our whispers in the passing air Is the authentic utterance of cloud, The speech of flowing water, blowing wind, Of silver moon and stunted juniper.

Words say, waters flow,

Rocks weather, ferns wither, winds blow, fires go.

K. RAINE.