THE CONUNDRUM

Had rest till that dank blank-canvas dawn when the

dove was preened to start,

And the Devil bubbled below the keel: "It's human, but is it Art?"

They builded a tower to shiver the sky and wrench the stars apart,

Till the Devil grunted behind the bricks: "It's striking, but is it Art?"

The stone was dropped at the quarry-side and the

idle derrick swung,

While each man talked of the aims of Art, and each in an alien tongue.

The tale is as old as the Eden Tree-and new as the new-cut tooth

For each man knows ere his lip-thatch grows he is

master of Art and Truth;

And each man hears as the twilight nears, to the beat of his dying heart,

The Devil drum on the darkened pane: "You did it, but was it Art?"

We have learned to whittle the Eden Tree to the

shape of a surplice-peg,

We have learned to bottle our parents twain in the yelk of an addled egg,

We know that the tail must wag the dog, for the horse is drawn by the cart;

But the Devil whoops, as he whooped of old: "It's clever, but is it Art?"

When the flicker of London sun falls faint on the

Club-room's green and gold,

The sons of Adam sit them down and scratch with

their pens in the mould

They scratch with their pens in the mould of their

graves, and the ink and the anguish start,

For the Devil mutters behind the leaves: "It's pretty, but is it Art?"

Now, if we could win to the Eden Tree where the Four Great Rivers flow,

And the Wreath of Eve is red on the turf as she left

it long ago,

And if we could come when the sentry slept and

softly scurry through,

By the favour of God we might know as much-as our father Adam knew!

THE LEGEND OF EVIL

I

THIS is the sorrowful story

Told when the twilight fails

And the monkeys walk together Holding their neighbours' tails:

"Our fathers lived in the forest,
Foolish people were they,
They went down to the cornland
To teach the farmers to play.

"Our fathers frisked in the millet,

Our fathers skipped in the wheat, Our fathers hung from the branches, Our fathers danced in the street.

"Then came the terrible farmers,
Nothing of play they knew,
Only ... they caught our fathers
And set them to labour too!

"Set them to work in the cornland

With ploughs and sickles and flails, Put them in mud-walled prisons

And-cut off their beautiful tails!

Now, we can watch our fathers, Sullen and bowed and old, Stooping over the millet,

"We may not speak to our fathers,
For if the farmers knew

They would come up to the forest
And set us to labour too."

This is the horrible story

Told as the twilight fails
And the monkeys walk together
Holding their kinsmen's tails.

THE LEGEND OF EVIL

II

'Twas when the rain fell steady an' the Ark was pitched an' ready,

That Noah got his orders for to take the bastes below; He dragged them all together by the horn an' hide an' feather,

An' all excipt the Donkey was agreeable to go.

Thin Noah spoke him fairly, thin talked to him sevarely, An' thin he cursed him squarely to the glory av the

"Divil take the ass that bred you, and the greater ass

that fed you

Divil go wid you, ye spalpeen!" an' the Donkey went aboard.

But the wind was always failin', an' 'twas most onaisy sailin',

An' the ladies in the cabin couldn't stand the stable

air;

An' the bastes betwuxt the hatches, they tuk an' died

in batches,

Till Noah said: "There's wan av us that hasn't paid his fare!"

For he heard a flusteration 'mid the bastes av all

creation

The trumpetin' av elephints an' bellowin' av whales;