2 APRIL 1910, Page 18

POETRY..

THE DEATH OF MARCH.

ART thou enfolded in the pregnant Year Or re-incarnate in a star unknown, Or to Titanic stature bast thou grown In some bleak unimaginable sphere Nay, Tyrant of the months, thou liest here Where, though the gorse upon the empty down Has caught the gold of thy abandoned crown, The crocus is a candle for thy bier.

No more the snowdrop knights thy court o'erthrong; With broken spears and tarnished silver hoods, Before the daffodils, they all are fled, Their dirge enchanted to an Easter song, As through the leafy homage of the woods April thy heir comes on with regal tread.

SANDYS WABON.