2l8 



CHOPIN" IN THE DUSK. 





Fed. Fed. 



___ I __ ->. ~> 



F 



Yes, I can still feel that Chopin's waltz has 

 rambled from under Cousin Kate's fingers out 

 through the drawing-room window, and into 

 this grey ruin. 



The stone crusader, who lost his hand, not 

 in Palestine, but on the banks of the Wimple, 

 a few hundred years after he has been placed 

 on his pedestal the stone crusader, whose 

 head is thatched with moss, and whose features 

 have been almost washed out with rain and 

 storm, into whose blank face or mask has 

 passed the spirit of old-world decay to which 

 this ground is given up the stone crusader is 



