11 DECEMBER 1926, Page 19

Poetry

Optima sive Pessima

WHEN I fall through oceans under oceans

Into deeps where never a greyness lingers ; Grope among the wrecks of old emotions, Clutched by coiling knots of gluey fingers ;- I can rise to Light, and Life, and Love there, If a white hand beckons high above there ; Throw aside the chains that made me sink so . .

" Nightmare fancies" ?—Well, I hardly think so 1

When I rise too high for human daring,

Float through icy fire unbreathed by mortals, And at last—unfaltering, uncaring—

Stand triumphant by the raying portals :- I must stoop—yes, stoop, I say ! What matters How Convention sneers and Custom chatters— If a white hand beckons me from under . . . .

"Am I talking nonsense" P—Well, I wonder

CHARLES STRACHEY.