WALTER DE LA MARE Arabia (from 'The Listeners') The Sleeper (from 'The Listeners') Winter Dusk (from 'The Listeners') Miss Loo (from 'The Listeners') The Listeners JOHN DRINKWATER The Fires of God (from 'Poems of Love and Earth') JAMES ELROY FLECKER Joseph and Mary (from 'Forty-Two Poems') The Queen's Song (from 'Forty-Two Poems') WILFRID WILSON GIBSON The Hare (from 'Fires,' Book III) Geraniums Devil's Edge (from 'Fires,' Book III) D. H. LAWRENCE The Snapdragon JOHN MASEFIELD Biography HAROLD MONRO Child of Dawn (from 'Before Dawn') Lake Leman (from 'Before Dawn') T. STURGE MOORE A Sicilian Idyll (first part) RONALD ROSS Hesperus (from 'Lyra Modulata') EDMUND BEALE SARGANT The Cuckoo Wood (from 'The Casket Songs') JAMES STEPHENS In the Poppy Field (from 'The Hill of Vision') In the Cool of the Evening (from 'The Hill of Vision') The Lonely God (from 'The Hill of Vision') ROBERT CALVERLEY TREVELYAN Dirge BIBLIOGRAPHY * * * * * LASCELLES ABERCROMBIE THE SALE OF SAINT THOMAS [A quay with vessels moored] Thomas: To India! Yea, here I may take ship; From here the courses go over the seas, Along which the intent prows wonderfully Nose like lean hounds, and track their journeys out, Making for harbours as some sleuth was laid For them to follow on their shifting road. Again I front my appointed ministry.-- But why the Indian lot to me? Why mine Such fearful gospelling? For the Lord knew What a frail soul He gave me, and a heart Lame and unlikely for the large events.-- And this is worse than Baghdad! though that was A fearful brink of travel. But if the lots, That gave to me the Indian duty, were Shuffled by the unseen skill of Heaven, surely That fear of mine in Baghdad was the same Marvellous Hand working again, to guard The landward gate of India from me. There I stood, waiting in the weak early dawn To start my journey; the great caravan's Strange cattle with their snoring breaths made steam Upon the air, and (as I thought) sadly The beasts at market-booths and awnings gay Of shops, the city's comfortable trade, Lookt, and then into months of plodding lookt. And swiftly on my brain there came a wind Of vision; and I saw the road mapt out Along the desert with a chalk of bones; I saw a famine and the Afghan greed Waiting for us, spears at our throats, all we Made women by our hunger; and I saw Gigantic thirst grieving our mouths with dust, Scattering up against our breathing salt Of blown dried dung, till the taste eat like fires Of a wild vinegar into our sheathed marrows; And a sudden decay thicken'd all our bloods As rotten leaves in fall will baulk a stream;