5 SEPTEMBER 1947, Page 14

LOVE'S REJECTION

No, do not speak of the wind, The blue, summer wind in the bay ; It has ghosted away, For the bell is a-toll on the hill, and the windows are blind.

It's too late for the song, The clear, brittle song of the waves, For the high, cold caves Are buried in night, and the glittering swimmers are gone.

Twilight has turned the key The grey, chill key in day's door, And the sun no more

Will fiercely possess us, entranced on the rocks by the sea.

No, speak not of the wind, lest high and strong in the dawn The wind should hear and return, and we find that it cannot be borne.

JOHN MAIR.