29 MARCH 1913, Page 21

POETRY.

MARCH WINDS.

WINDS go streaming, shouting loul At their play about the sky, And my soul is like a cloud

Blown about with them on high.

Like a hawk unbooded she From my body broke away, Longing for the company Of the winds at holiday.

So she scours the skiey Wheeling, dipping in the blue- Hawk-soul, cloud-soul, turn again! What's the lure to use for you ?

DOROTIIE.A. MICUELLA.R.