VERSES

Evening Star, Issue 20137, 30 March 1929, Page 21

VERSES

THE DARK HOUR. 'And now, when merry winds do blow, And rain makes trees look fresh, An overpowering stateness holds This mortal flesh. Though I do love to feel the rain, And be by winds well blown— The mystery of mortal life Doth press me .down. And in this mood, como now what will, Shine rainbow, cuckoo call; There is no thing in heaven or earth Can lift ray soul. I know not where this state comes from— No cause for grief 1 know; The earth around is fresh and green, Flowers near me grow. I sit between two fair rose trees; Red roses on my right, And on my left side roses aro A lovely white. The little birds are full of joy, Lambs bloating all the day; The colt runs after the old marc, And children play. And still there comes this dark, dark hour— Which is not born of care; Into my heart it creeps before I am aware. ~W. H. Davies. 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 sen. Her sails aro 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, in the ‘Spectator.’