5 SEPTEMBER 1931, Page 16

Poetry

Climbing Stairs

Beautiful shines the upturned face And lifted pallor of the lovely hand Which holds the enchanting wand.

She with her candle comes alone, The climbing centre of the brilliant space That mounts with her the narrow stairs of stone.

But she will only seem Magical, in a momentary dream, Till pain remembers ; her imperiousness Hangs on no hidden power, But is commanded by her countenance.

So all the crowd of shadows that are seen Invading from the outer night, advance And close upon that lighted circle press, Like some dark soldiery that guard their queen, And,, though they dread none else, if she but turned, would cower. J. M. B.