2 JUNE 1950, Page 17

English Trees

THE beech is a cliff, resting upon the sky, The oak a rock, around which seas of grain Rustle and recede, the birch is rain Even in seasons of drought, when fissures crack Open like lips in the earth praying for water.

Larches are torches of scalding lime-green fire, Elms stretch clotted shadows slowly over Meadows where cricketers run, heraldic white Upon a shield of green, and chestnuts climb Trees of festival, scattering freckled flowers.

Only the pine, night's dark; stiff sentinel

At lonely, darkened windows, with needling, rustling Sound like the seas' ,desolate whispering Reminds of lights elsewhere, laughter, and summer departing, All the despairing heart desires in vain.

MARGARET STANLEY-WRENCH.