the world through blue glasses, and that is always the time one longs
to write poetry.

I send you also Geoff's verses, written to mamma, and slipped into
the box when we were playing Machine Poetry:-


I know a woman fair and calm,
Whose shining tender eyes
Make, when I meet their earnest gaze,
Sweet thoughts within me rise.

And if all silver were her hair,
Or faded were her face,
She would not look to me less fair,
Nor lack a single grace.

And if I were a little child,
With childhood's timid trust,
I think my heart would fly to her,
And love--because it must!

And if I were an earnest man,
With empty heart and life,
I think--(but I might change my mind) -
She'd be my chosen wife!


Isn't that pretty? Oh, Elsie! I hope I shall grow old as
beautifully as mamma does, so that people can write poetry to me if