2 FEBRUARY 1929, Page 12
Poetry
The Ship
THEY have launched the little ship,
She is riding by the quay. Like a young doe to the river, She has trembled to the sea.
Her sails are shaken loose ; They flutter in the wind;
The cat's-paws ripple round her And the gulls scream behind.
The rope is cast, she moves Daintily out and south, Where the snarling ocean waits her With tiger-foaming mouth.
RICHARD CHURCH.