BOOKS AND AUTHORS.

Dominion, Volume 5, Issue 1479, 29 June 1912, Page 11

BOOKS AND AUTHORS.

VERSES OLD AND NEW. NATUKE. She seeins a Psyche, darkly wed To some immortal Spouse, But none hath surely seen or said To whom she pay her vows. In vain' for her tho saints rehearse , Their benedicite, She will not bless, she will not curse, She chants no litany. A faithless part she seems to play, And yet she hath nbhorr'd Delilah's fault, and gives away No secret of her Lord. For when the over-curious guest Essays to probe and peep She lays him 'twist her either breast— A valley dark and deep— And ere ho hath begun the quest Behold, he is asleep! —Anna Bunston. TELL. Tour glass has stol'n your look's simplicity, ' . '• Or taught you cunning of a witch's spell. You are not that you were, and yet I see Nothing so fair, nor can love aught so well . . . ' Tell, tell What isr"t I love in you, if you 'tis not? A rich rare memory of love long forgot? Whence have you caught that wise and lifted iook? " What river robbed of water s running smile? Some blosmy apple-bough, was it, that , shook Happiness over you a brief, bright whilo— Tell, tell • The change, the change, the now grace you have won, Of what, enchantment's your enchantment spun? No: from within that gentle and grave light Shines through those lucid windows opening 'neath Tho clear pale brow; it is your soul makes bright Your look, as Spring with gold a gorsespread heath. Tell, toll — Tell nothing! Love has looked out from your face: I cast my words veil-like to dim Love'sgrace. —John Freeman. " THE LAST ONE. ■ - - I'm walkin' on the Old Koad South'ard from the sea; But the Old Koad, the Old Eoad Is not the same to me. The grass-grown way is grass no more, But sharp flints an' cold, An' the little folk an' old folk They stare so strange an' bold. Fin up along the Old Road On cold flints an' gray; ( . Aii' as I pass the Wealden folk; "A furriner," they say. "A furriner from Kent, maybe, Maybe a Northern. man." , An' puty folk an' plain folk, They look at mo askan'. A-trailin'' down the Old Koad A furriner I be! Whoso father an' -his father, too, Was Wealden-born like me; Whose mother an' her mother, too, Was bred on Beacon Brow; But the valley-folk an'.hill-folk They do not know mo now. Sore-footed on the Old Eoad I passed the archard wall, But archard ail is cut an' bare, There.bo.no trees at all. . Tho .thatch that spread above my head Is gapinMvide an' old; ■ An' my women-folk.an' men-folk . ; Are lying in the mould. TBack alo'% 'the-01d= Eoad, : Nor'ard to the sea.' The Old Road, the Old Eoad, .Is blood an' tears to me. . . There's Death an' Ruin at my back, The empty world before; A ft' furrin folk, not home folk, , TVJill screw my coffin door. , z , -Leslie Coulson. ( : • FROM THE ROOFS. In. serried ranks the black roofs loom Against the. lurid sky. Below, the blaze of garish liglits ' Grim hosts of night defy, Where. endless, through the measured hours, A human swarm drifts by. ' A human swarm shifts endlessly Through thoroughfares of fire, AS each one to his' goal impelled Pursues the fool's desire; .While desolate a House of God Uplifts a lonely spire. On far lit avenues they seem, To one upon the height, Liko clouds of crazed, bewildered things, Lured by a dazzling light. r That beat scorched wings a moment's space Then fall into tie night. Some speed them out on eager feat - With Pleasure for their quest, And some flee bitter Memory Where Grief and Torture,rest; But at the board where each drinks deep Death'sits a silent guest. In serried ranks tho black roofs'frown On thoroughfares of fire, Whero through the night a human swarm Pursues the fool's desire; .While, like swift ghosts the gray bat 6 wheel Around a lonely spire. -G. T. Mason..