23 NOVEMBER 1934, Page 12

A Vain Hope HERE is fresh matter, poet, Matter for

old age meet ;

Might of the Church and the State, Their mobs put under their feet.

0 but heart's wine shall run pure Mind's bread grow sweet.

That were a Cowardly song, Wander in dreams no more ; What if the Church and the State Are the 'mob that howls alike door ? Wine shall run thick to the end, .