30 JUNE 1928, Page 5

Poetry

A Paradox

LIKE beggars, lame and dull of heart, Past me the long days creep From unsought wakening To unsought sleep.

And yet the years like hot-foot thieves Run softly, nimbly by, As though from fierce pursuit They needs must fly.

Sage, you are old and well content : Can all your wisdom show What I, being young and sad, Still seek to know ?

Then say—how come the years to seem so swift, The days, the days so slow ?

JAN STRUTHER.