BOOKS AND AUTHORS.

Dominion, Volume 2, Issue 318, 3 October 1908, Page 12

BOOKS AND AUTHORS.

VERSES OLD AND NEW. 'the DUST. Tea, spit on mel Tea, spnrn me with your • feet! vi \Ye kings and 6eers and bards together! For lam but the dust—the shapeless dust— The sport of winds and of the weather! .Yet once the lightning of the flesh I wore;: Peal after peal like glorious thunder, Once with the shock of being sweet as song : The senses shook my heart of wonder! And once in burning hush of life's high noon, I heard the rosy mouth of woman ' Spilling love's voice of spikenard on. the air— "Divine, and yet supremely human. ■ Tea, spit on me! Yea, spurn mo with your '^ eet! <' ■ . Ye kings and seers. and bards together! Tet once your -solemn robes of state I wore Who now am sport of winds and weather! Wilbur Mason, : in the "National : , . ■■■••'-. Magazine." A GOOD TIME. ' I've had a good time. life came with rosy cheeks and tender song Across the morning fields to play with mo, And, oh, how glad we were, and romped along ' And laughed and kissed each other by the' •: sea. I've had a good time. Love came and met me half .way down the. road: .: Love went away, but there remained with me 'A little dream to help me bear my load, • A something more to watch for by the sea. ' I've had a good time. Death eame and took a rosebud from my yardj 'But after that, I think there walked with me, JTo prove me how the thing was not so hard, 'An:angel here of evenings by. the sea. > I've had a good time. . A good, good time. Nobody knows how good a time but me, iWith nights and days of revel and of rhyme, ; And tears of love and longing by the" sea. V —Mounce Byrd in "Harper's." : •' PENELOPE TO ULYSSES. Thou marvellest, husband/ that I sit so mute And motionless,' but gazing on "that face Which now the pine-fire throws up in a flame, Now leaves in darkest night as thou , dost lean Massily dropping toward the log-fed blaze. Such silence has come down, upon us two! Yet a good silence after so long years, We only are awake and the live sea! But thou who hast borne all things may'st woman's fancies while she speaks '■ ■■ them. Think not, my man of men, that I am cold In passion or heart! Far otherwise! I see, And nothing else I see, the brow that took The blow of strange waves and the furious

Of different winds,' tho sad heaven-roaming '• eyes, •• The mighty hands that piloted all night. Yet ait thou paler'than my dream of thee. Forgive me, 0 my lord, but I must speak. Well—all these years have I imagined thee So constantly that now thy visible form, How noble! seems but shadow of such sight. 3?or I have seen thee in the deep of night' ' leap silent, sudden: up the stair, and I ! Tell toward thee in the darkness with a ory, . i Fluttering upon thy bosom like a bird. And I. have seen thee spring upon this earth At' sunset dark against the fiery orb. Then have I often just upon, daybreak Started, and rnn down to the beach and heard Thy boat grate ,on the pebbles: .or again It has been noon and thou hast come in arms Over the sweet fields calling out-my name. Sometimes in ' tragic nights of >Eurf and: cloud Thou hast been thrown headlong;vin howling . ': wind • '• ' '■ ' ' On thesharpySoast and up the 6ea-bank streamed,. < Alone. ■ This then I strive to shape to words— Thou hadst become with passing days and • - years; . • With night and tempest, and with sun and sea, j A hovering in all lights .and airs. •' Thou'litest' the soul then, of evening star,j' And' tnq4 didst roam inSJhe seeking ' moon," ." * ' . Thou secretly wouldst speak from stirring . leaves, ■ > ■■ . And what was dawn but some surprise of thee? So, husband, though this heart beats wild at thee, Yet lesser in imagination Art thou returned than evermore returning. Nature is but a body from henceforth, The soul departed, the spirit gone out of her. The waves cry unintelligibly now,That then "Ulysses" and "Ulysses" still Hissed sweetly, privately, the love-long night. ' Ah! but thou hear'st me not, canst only hear A roar of memories, and for thee this house Still plunges and takes, the sea-spray evermore. Yet come! How thou art.weary none can tell How wise, how sad, how deaf to bubbled words, : Yet come! How thou art weary none can tell, But now with perils kiss me,'wind me round With wonder, .murmur magic., in, my ear, And clasp me with the world, with nothing less! (-Stephen Phillips in the "Spectator."