16 MAY 1925, Page 18
POETRY
COME, COME, MY. LOVE
COME, come, my Love, the morning waits,
What magic now shall greet our sight : What butterflies Before our eyes Shall vanish in the Open light !
Come, while the Sun has power to strike Our household fires all dead and cold : How softly now
The wind can blow—
When carrying off a field of gold !
Come, when behind some leafy hedge . We'll see a snow-white, new-born lamb No man has set
His eyes on yet—
Where it lies sleeping near its dam.
Come, come, my Love, the morning waits, - The Sun is high, the dew has gone : The air's as bright - As though the light Of twelve May mornings carne in one. W. H. DAVIES.
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