Of the old garden, only a stray shining Of daffodil flames amid April's cuckoo-flowers, Or a cluster of aconite mixt with weeds entwining! But, dark and lofty, a royal cedar towers By homely thorns: whether the white rain drifts Or sun scorches, he holds the downs in ken, The western vale; his branchy tiers he lifts, Older than many a generation of men. LAURENCE BINYON _Suppose ..._ Suppose ... and suppose that a wild little Horse of Magic Came cantering out of the sky, With bridle of silver, and into the saddle I mounted To fly--and to fly; And we stretched up into the air, fleeting on in the sunshine, A speck in the gleam On galloping hoofs, his mane in the wind out-flowing, In a shadowy stream; And, oh, when, all lone, the gentle star of evening Came crinkling into the blue, A magical castle we saw in the air, like a cloud of moonlight, As onward we flew; And across the green moat on the drawbridge we foamed and we snorted; And there was a beautiful Queen Who smiled at me strangely, and spoke to my wild little Horse, too-- A lovely and beautiful Queen; Suppose with delight she cried to her delicate maidens: "Behold my daughter--my dear!" And they crowned me with flowers, and then to their harps sate playing, Solemn and clear; And magical cakes and goblets were spread on the table; And at window the birds came in; Hopping along with bright eyes, pecking crumbs from the platters, And sipped of the wine; And splashing up--up to the roof tossed fountains of crystal; And Princes in scarlet and green Shot with their bows and arrows, and kneeled with their dishes Of fruits for the Queen; And we walked in a magical garden, with rivers and bowers, And my bed was of ivory and gold; And the Queen breathed soft in my ear a song of enchantment-- And I never grew old.... And I never, never came back to the earth, oh, never and never; How mother would cry and cry! There'd be snow on the fields then, and all these sweet flowers in the winter Would wither and die.... Suppose ... and suppose.... WALTER DE LA MARE THE SMILE OF THE SPHINX By ROBERT NICHOLS I.