30 AUGUST 1930, Page 11

Love's a Strange Thief

How shall my words keep pace with my intent, When my intent upon my words makes war ?

Your beauty, that is my sole argument,

Has drowned my tongue, my love's solicitor.

You, that have stolen beauty front the sky

And filched his gold dust front the honey-bee, Have with that beauty drained my tongue's source dry, And taken all my words away from me.

How shall I then with words aspire to teach Such beauty as you wear upon your braw ? I, whom that beauty has bereft of speech,

Have never known the need to speak till now. Love's a strange thief, that in a single day Can eive us speech' nd take our speech away.

P W. II. IL