5 MARCH 1932, Page 17

The Ikon

Iti.-EE against sky, with falling hair,

I see him, bent and silent, still

with blunt hands drive his flashing shsro

behind the patient horses there

across that gentle hill. The wind sings round him as he goes, and April's rising in his eyes

strikes envy in my separate heart where, dressed with dust, I stand apart behind the plovers' cries.

But cities break the navelstrings which link men to the primal earth, and so I cannot he his friend but must go masked until the end

because of citybirtli.

Therefore I keep his image bright,

an ikon in my secret mind, that when the stone and steel are split

ard living flowers thrust out of it

I'll be not wholly blind.