11 JANUARY 1919, Page 15

POETRY.

IN A WARD.

0 HIND that tosses free

The children's hair; Scatters the bloesom of Apple and pear; Blow in my heart, touch me, Gladden me here.

You have seen so many things,— Blow in and tell Tales of white sand and golden 'Gainst the sea swell.

Bring me flee meadow-thoughts, Fresh orchard smell.

Here we most stare through ghtes

To see the sun—

Stare at flat ceilings white Till day is done; While you, sunshine, starehiets May out and run.

Blow in and bring us all Dear home-delight- Green face of the Spring earth, Blue of deep night, Blot with your health our faces Prom sash other's sight. Iron Cliscar.