30 AUGUST 1924, Page 16

POETRY.

THE SWIMMER.

WHEN I had crossed the hill at last,

And reached the water's brink,

"For once, in all my life," thought I- " I'll swim in water fit to drink.

"In this calm lake, so clear and pure4 Which has no weeds or thorns, I'll send a thousand small blue waves To butt the rocks with milk-white horns.

"I'll laugh and splash till, out of breath, My life is almost done ; And all that's left is one wild hand

Above me, clutching at the Sun 1"

W. H. DA17IRK,