12 JANUARY 1929, Page 20

Poetry

The Blest

THE Vision came, all grey and cold,

And cast his shadow on my bed—

But I could live a thousand years, And never wish that I were dead.

!` You do not kilo*," Said Death, to me, " How many men hits;e called me ' Blest ; The Millions that haVe squeezed my hand In gratitude for peace and rest ; When they are old, and no one wants them, They lie their heads upon my breast."

And he looked so gentle and kind, And his voice came so soft to my car, That I gave him a cherry to eat, And the dew on its skin was a tear.

W. H. DAVIES.