The wind is piping loud, my boys,
The lightning flashes free-

While the hollow oak our palace is,

Our heritage the sea.

ALLEN CUNNINGHAM

I

SEA FEVER

MUST go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,

And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by; And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,

And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide

Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be de

nied;

And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds

flying,

And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,

To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife;

And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing

fellow-rover,

And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long

trick's over.

JOHN MASEFIELD

HILLS

HE hills are going somewhere;

TH

They have been on the way a long time.

They are like camels in a line

But they move more slowly.

Sometimes at sunset they carry silks,
But most of the time silver birch trees,
Heavy rocks, heavy trees, gold leaves
On heavy branches till they are aching.
Birches like silver bars they can hardly lift

With grass so thick about their feet to hinder.... They have not gone far

In the time I've watched them. . .

HILDA CONKLING

D

AN AUTUMNAL EVENING

EEP black against the dying glow

The tall elms stand; the rooks are still; No windbreath makes the faintest thrill Amongst the leaves; the fields below Are vague and dim in twilight shadesOnly the bats wheel in their raids. On the grey flies, and silently Great dusky moths go flitting by.

WILLIAM SHARP