Indeed the point of the comparison might very well be conveyed by the two poems about a London garden; that on the garden in peace being comparatively long, and that about the garden in war exceedingly short; short but sharply pathetic with its notion of peering and probing for the microscope flowers that must be a part of the most utilitarian vegetables. Indeed the short poems are certainly the most successful; and there is the same brevity in the last line of the poem about the tragic passage of time; "If lips of children had not told me so." The same general impression, as in the comparison already noted, is conveyed, for instance, in the fact that the poems about South Africa are private rather than public poems; are in that sense, if the phrase be properly comprehended, rather colonial than imperial. That is, they are individual glimpses of great torrid wastes, like similar individual glimpses of quiet northern woods; visions of crude and golden cities as personal as the parallel visions of normal northern cottages. Miss Sibyl Bristowe is perhaps an amateur, in the sense in which this is generally true of one who happens to be an artist in another art; but it is unfortunate that the world has so much missed the notion of that natural ardour that should belong to the word. G. K. CHESTERTON. The author has to acknowledge the courtesy of the Editors of "The Poetry Review" and "The Johannesburg Star" for permission to include poems that have appeared in their pages. CONTENTS PAGE The Great War 13 My London Garden, 1914 14 My Garden, 1918 17 Over the Top! 18 To His Dear Memory 20 Sorrow 21 Alas! 23 A Sacrament 24 The Love-shed Tear 25 Madonna Granduca and Child 29 A Vision of a Day that is Past 30 Bitterness Casteth out Love 33 The Hour of Happiness 34 Thoughts 35 The Things Unsaid are the Things that Count! 36 The Song of the Long Ago 37 The Sinner's Dreaming 39 Woman 40 Christmas 41