3 MARCH 1950, Page 14

Hearing a Symphony of Sibelius

How shall I halt my soul that hangs too much, Too heavily, on this bewildering world Of unhorizoned sound ; music that is Beyond the air ? Here, in this cold silver landscape There is no huddled warmth of men. All speech has ended, And love is no more than the shadow of a flower Remembered on wide fields of Alpine snow.

Here no god walks in the evening. Individual sorrows run Glittering away into an unknown country Where only the harsh wind hangs, over -a great water With sighing reeds and without bird-singing.

This wild grey music is Illimitable space between two silences.

ISOBEL CUMMING.