2 JUNE 1928, Page 12

Poetry

Four Epitaphs

HERE lies a lover—one who did not know

That love is of the spirit—one who dreamed Of bodily loveliness that faintly gleamed Through mists of passion when the lights were low.

He has forgotten, now, that arms were white, And warm and white a bosom's rise and fall ; And all he loved is dead and rotten—all Surfeit attained:and unattained delight.

I asked for nothing. The world gave it me.

I hoped for nothing—was not disappointed.

I sleep in death, and no less peacefully Than God's betrayer, and the Lord's anointed,

. _ This man might have laid hold on happiness If he had only loved a little less.

I have. the treasure I most greatly crave—

My delicate sanctuary, my sweet grave.

DAPHNE Wilt. •