THE WEAVING.

New Zealand Tablet, 14 April 1921, Page 33

THE WEAVING.

The moon is weaving in the street ■ A tanglement for passing feet That must go always up and down From the river *to the town. For men walk there who never see The lovely gestures that a tree Marks over them when they go by. There men never see the sky. Their hearts are heavy and they walk With timid eyes. They never talk. And so the moon is making there, Out of her shining, beautiful hair, Reflections of the branches so These tired, awkward men may know By looking on the ground they love What excellent beauty moves above. —Harold Cook, in the Touchstone.