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.