2 AUGUST 1935, Page 13

Winter . Sunrise

As flat as if some brushman of the skies Had, while men slept, upon' an azure ground Filled in the perfectness of Giotto's round With blood, for earth's unspeakable surprise And vaster than in man's conception lies To contemplate, though arms about it wound Should meet at finger-tips, and so confound The dreadful computations of the , wise— The wheel of heaven rolls imperceptibly Up the slight gradient of his wintry ride : The eye of heaven in lidless majesty Gazes along his realms, Which far and wide Gleam where his ardour's slanting touches lie, Reviving fields innumerably dyed: RomiLLY Jim/4.