Poems by R.W.B. Howarth

The 1926 edition of The Dorset Year Book includes five poems by the 15 year old Burton Bradstock schoolboy. Source Bridport Museum

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).

I have always thought his poems wonderful, but then, of course, I am his mother, and so naturally biassed. We have al-ways 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 con-gratulations 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.

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.

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