6 JANUARY 1923, Page 26

TYRANNIES.

HE is so palsied by his dreams,

This tall and beautiful, this pitiful man,

He, when a moth-wing taps him, screams.

When a gull's image ran Over the blue wide shallows, he Wrung hands and cried " The Kraken ! Help Help me, good stranger, lest I be Pulped wrack afloat with spume and kelp 1" O but break free from those wild wheels That drag you bruised by crag and scar I Stand for staunch earth on dogged heels, Knowing what thing you are ; How the whole leaguered oak-forest Is not so strong as your least bone, And the big sea's outrageous crest Bows mute before your own !

Speak—and you utter rocks and trees 1 Move—and sea ebbs and forest flies How, then, shall shadows tyrannize The tyrant of their substances ?

Louis GOLDING.