POEMS OF A DORSET SCHOOLBOY.

[It is with infinite pleasure that I publish in our Dorset Year Book the following five poems by R. W. B. Howarth. a Dorset schoolboy. His mother, in her letter submitting them to my
consideration. tells me “he was born in the village (Burton Bradstock) and loves every inch of
Dorset with all that fine instinct with which Poets are gifted. He has written poetry from quite
a tiny chap, and is developing well at school on the literary side, winning the school prize for
poems for the last three years. and is only 15 now (February, 1926). 1 have always thought his
poems wonderful, but then, of course, I am his mother, and so naturally biassed. We have always been keen on the Dorset Year Book, and each year after reading it we send it to distant friends in New- Zealand.” I am sure my readers will join with me in offering sincere congratulations to young Howarth, and wish him every success as he grows up and mounts the ladder of literary fame. - S. 1. G.]

ON DORSET.

If you can think of some secluded vale,
Shut off from Heaven; where evil has no sway,
Where skylarks sing their praises to the dale
Each morning, whilst the ever chatt’ring jay
Raises aloud its nonsensical tale
And nightingales bid farewell to the day,
Then you know Dorset.

If there is known to you a lovely bay
Whose rounded shores exclude all signs of ill;
Upon whose shingle gently laps all day
A gentle wave; at dawn from o’er the hill
Rises the sun and then to end the day
It sinks beneath the sea. Until
This spot is known, you know not Dorset.

R. W.	B. HOWARTH, aged 15 (Burton Bradstock).

THE EARTH.

Immortal sister of a thousand years,
Why dost thou sit alone in solitude?
Wilt thou not speak into our eager ears?
What wars of kings, what peasant’s simple feud, -
What quarrels has thou seen? What bitter tears,
What happiness or love in cottage rude?
No secrets of great kings, no whispered word
Escape thine ears: by thee all thought is heard.

What foolish cousins of thy rocky ways
Keep their own secrets, think they miss thine eyes.
All ignorant that time shall end their days,
Look up and pray their secrets to the skies.
From thee come all their stories, fables, fays:
From thee all truth and justice will arise.
Speak out in loud but welcome tones and show
To unbelievers all that thou dost know.