29 DECEMBER 1923, Page 15

POETRY.

A • SHROPSHIRE LAD.

Ix all my day there lives but one, Lonely, without a peer To turn to dauntless man's delight The thoughts we grapple here ; Whate'er we knew of hope or love,

Desire, and fear, and pain— For other ages, thanks to him, Their echo lives again.

Of many a pen he takes his own : Catullus, Corbet, Ford, The Ballad Masters and the Dirge Have built his lofty word ; But most of ail, our English land

Of silent, glancing streams— And we, who other waters love,

Pay tribute to his dreams.

Beneath her caverns coldly flows

The Dove of our desire— Cotton and I arc far from home, And far from Doveridge spire—

Cotton and I, we pay our dues To Ony and Teme and Chun, True waters they, that gave to earth So masterful a son. II. F. B. Buorr-Sminr.