21 JUNE 1930, Page 19

r orgetfulness

So I shall go, and in some other air Dig in a phantom earth with phantom spade ; And all the memories of the world will fade

From less to less : I shall grow unaware Of things that were most precious and most fair, Till all the lovely ghosts of earth are laid : I shall forget even the things you said—

I shall forget your eyes, your voice, your hair.

And in that twilight region where a year . May be a million ages, or a day, - Someone will come and whisper in my ear A name I do not know, but, strangely stirred, I shall arise, and muse awhile, and say, " Helen ?—Helen Y—I do not know the word."

RoBERT BELT.,