12 JANUARY 1940, Page 14

THE BLIND TRAMP

HER darkness fell, before her day was done ; But now, profounder light's illiterate cloud She needs no eyes ; she learns to follow alone The drifting seed whose random flower is dead.

A footsore wanderer wearing the first snow, This woman, like the Year that sometimes sinned, Was never entire with innocence till now ; Her griefs forgiven beneath the seamless ground.

Here swelled the oatfield's water-silver sail Where now the granite winds grind out her fate ; The whitening Truth knows neither Spiing nor Fall: Only the mind's vision immaculate.

She loves no landmark now, no singular tree, And keeps no tryst with memory, none with hope. Some covet life to lose it ; some agree With Christ at last, like dew the sun draws up.

LILIAN BOWES LYON.