ESSAYS IN VERSE.

Evening Post, Volume LXXV, Issue 27, 1 February 1908, Page 13

ESSAYS IN VERSE.

REMEMBRANCE. 0 unforgotfen lips, gray, haunting ,eyes, Soft curving cheeks and hßart-remem-bered brow, 11 i 3 all true, tho old lovo never dies ; Anil, parted, we must meet for ever now. Wo did not think it true ! We did not think Lovo meant this universal cry of pain, Thirf crown of thorn, this vinegar to drink, 1 ■ This lonely crucifixion o'or again. Yet through the darkness of tho sleeploss night Your tortured face pomes meekly answoring mine; Dumb, but I know why those mute lips are white, Dark, but I know why those dark lashes shino. 0 love, lovo, love ! And what if this should bo For ever now, through God's Eternity ! — Alfred Neves. Pall Mall Magazino. I THE WORLD'S DESIRE. [ Beauty is like a star, Shamed in the bold daylight, i But coming out o£ tho far, At the call of the mystic night. , Beauty is like a dream, We wake, and lo ! 'tis flown : If we sleep again, 'twould seem We may make it our very own. Beauty is like a Sower In a dusk garden set, That reanod- away, for an hour Gives of her odor yet. —Richard Burton. Century Magazine. AFTER THE DAWN. ■ ' 1 Pale jrrows tho light that shone at dawn of day, j When rose tho sun in yonder eastern skies ; Tho golden flash of morning: fades away : The firsc pure radiance of the daylight dies. Pass on, fair morn ! Shall there not oome to me Another dawn — a Dayepring brighter far, When through the mists my waiting eyes shall see The rising glory of the Morning Star? Pass on, fair morn ! I would not stay thy flight, Though night must cast its shade across my way Ere I snail stand where dwells tho changeless light — _ Whore night is lost in everlasting day. Toronto Globe. THE ANGLER. All day he whip 1 ? for trout tho quiet stream, 'His hook entangled in the skies of dream. His only comrade while the swifb hours run, The World-wide presence vf tho summer sun. He hears the wind that just before him g° e3 Shout tho sweet rumour of the wilding roso. Like flaming brand tho tanagor's clear song Drops in hi 3 soul tho while he walks along. \ x He sees the worn rocks battling with the rills, And in his pulse a sense of triumph thrills. Beside the bank he notos a strong straight tree, - And all his soul grows strflng in' sympathy. Homeward ho goes at last when conies the night. His creel stili ompty and his soul etill light— For gr !>ater witness of his angler's art, The beauty of the day is in his heart ! — Edward Wilbur Mason. Munsoy's Magazine. DUSK. Dusk, and tho day is done, Homeward I turn ; Bright as tho setting sun, i Homo fires do burn. Dusk, and the nhadows fold On the hill's breast; Dark 'gainst tho fleeing gold In the far west. Dufck, and tho waking stars Glimmer on hi(?h Like candles newly lit In tho grey sky. , Dusk, and I see your face, Soft lips apart; Waiting to nnd your place Near to my heart. 1 —Beth Slater Whitson. Windsor Magazine.