2 OCTOBER 1936, Page 13

Where Sailor Used to Lodge

Wiimm sailor used to lodge, a woman complaining

Her fingers were all thumbs, Packed the meagre chattel or two he had left behind, Spindrift brittle and whisperless sea-shell ; From exigeant feast-of Mine sweet-water crumbs.

Were hers for the still gleaning.

Yet workaday hand chafed, that could not tell Stuff cherishable from beach-floss dimmed of meaning ; Folding the Atlantic up, how dared she find True name for insular balms ?

Old cardigan, ravelled wanderer waning.

- Wool a brutal minute, was good to a mind Steepled in ghostly calms,

-

'Touched softly in her the sea's.absolving bell.

LILIAN BOWES