13 AUGUST 1932, Page 11

Treasure

Now the white-sail moon Weighs anchor down reaches of the sky For her splendid journey across vast space.

Now your body wakes—

And the accidental moonlight touches it, Turning warm flesh into a cold statue.

Now the buds break along the boulevards In Night's womb.

Hear the bursting of the buds I Comes your kiss That can dispense with the reign of Time.

And all this,

Mouth, Time stopped, leaves and the white-sail moon, Is treasure of the soul's full argosy.

JOSEPH BRADDOCK.