10 SEPTEMBER 1954, Page 10

Family Poem

Not even the falcon's glaring eye Can trace kin out in jealousy And hate and spite and every sin That tetters the bewildered spirit That ails and dies like flesh its twin, Turns bright with rot: unless love fire it.

Nor can love fire it, among those Who are poor, blind, ugly, old, frustrated, Quite stuck for why they bred or mated: Like a lush hot-house flower, it grows By art; and only gentleness Can spread its petals till it glows.

Not acid soil of sharp distress.