TO YOU, REMEMBERING THE PAST
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When we were parted, sweet, and darkness came, I used to strike a match, and hold the flame Before your picture; and would breathless mark The answering glimmer of the tiny spark That brought to life the magic of your eyes, Their wistful tenderness, their glad surprise. Holding that mimic torch before your shrine I used to light your eyes and make them mine; Watch them like stars set in a lonely sky, Whisper my heart out, yearning for reply; Summon your lips from far across the sea Bidding them live a twilight hour with me. Then, when the match was shrivelled into gloom, Lo—you were with me in the darkened room. |
THE LAST SONNET
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Suppose one knew that never more might one Put pen to sonnet, well loved task; that now These fourteen lines were all he could allow To say his message, be forever done; How he would scan the word, the line, the rhyme, Intent to sum in dearly chosen phrase The windy trees, the beauty of his days, Life's pride and pathos in one verse sublime. How bitter then would be regret and pang For former rhymes he dallied to refine, For every verse that was not crystalline.... And if belike this last one feebly rang, Honour and pride would cast it to the floor Facing the judge with what was done before. |
THE WAR
IRONY
| Anton Lang, the Christus of Oberammergau, has not been called upon to fight in the German army. |
| NEWS ITEM. |