27 MAY 1911, Page 18

POETRY.

HAWTHORN.

" I will sine as doth behove

Hymns in praise of what I love."

WORDSWORTH.

I 'mow a dingle in a hawthorn wood Filled with the fragrance of the perfect May; Here the squat thorns for centuries have stood, And Spring heaps blossoms on them, new and gay.

And in that moment of the shining day Which sees the glamour of the rising sun Slant the pale yellow of his early ray On dew-drenched fellows, all the fine threads spun By long-legged spinners in these twisted trees, Float their grey gossamer, upon the breeze.

Here leaps the limber-footed listening bare, And here the cuckoo, the small song-birds' care, Calls from the willows in the water-leas, Remote, elusive, a thin tongue of air.

PAMELA GLENCONNER.