10 SEPTEMBER 1932, Page 11

Poetry

Talk at Night

Au me, my love, by sense no more deceived, Come to late wisdom in your early time, Dear music dumb, sweet lies no more believed, No faith entangled in the noose of rhyme:

How will you stomach all my rigmarole Of love, the only story I can tell ?

How may I pace your swift-advancing soul, That hears the parson droning in the bell, Sees in all beauty beauty's autumn end ? 0 my Cassandra, am I come too late ?

Fear not, beloved. Things foreknown intend No sorrow. Yet a child, I knew my fate :

To feel the labour ere I knew the bliss : Bury my love, before I had his kiss.

L. A. G. SIRONO.