1 MAY 1920, Page 15

POETRY.

MOMENTS.

Ii we could save our moments, store them deep

In cellars of the mind to choose at will,

Not as the dream that drowns into a sleep, But as the taste of wine, laid cool and still; Could groping fingers hold the grains of ore And set the scattered jewels in a crown,

Comb out the beach of Time, and from the shore Net all the tangled treasure floating down :

Then living so with heaven at our hand We'd fly at death, like laden bees, to bear That heaven captive to the heaven there!

Longer than any bronze these would abide, These, that are now as writing on the sand Beneath the wave of each oncoming tide.

IIIIRBERT ASQUITH.