ESSAYS IN VERSE.

Evening Post, Volume LXXVI, Issue 106, 31 October 1908, Page 13

ESSAYS IN VERSE.

When day breaks blue, the thought of you I bury in my heart, For thore'B life to live and work to do. And I cannot dream apart — When twilight falls, tho old need calls, And to answer I wero fain; But, with bleeding hands I build the walls Aboufr ~v heart again ! But oh ! at night, when cool starlight And warm rose-scent are met, Dear love, dear love! how can I quite Forget.? «-L. Nicholson. "Vagrant Songs." BALLADE OF DEAD LADIEfiI. If death be rest they are best dead, Theßo women — though their hearts are clay, And dust lie 9 where once cherry-red And smile and wit and kisses lay; For potdo who passed in silk array, ! Have left their jewelled hintorios In vorso or canvas, plot and pl«,y — Theic ,is no death for such iU thesa. What though the spacious days have fled, Still great Elizabeth holds sway, And still men say what Ninon said; And still Dv Barri's voice h gay< Perdita, passionate Corday — They may not sleep nor take their ease J "Poor Nelly/ sweet Anne Hathaway — There is no death for such as these. To Emma, with her nut-brown head And vermeil cheek, comes no decay ) The tears of Stella still are shed ■ The glorious Gunnings have their day} And still on Richmond Hill, men say, A lass flits through the Georgian trees \ Thrale a,t her tea-cups; shrill d'Arblay— ' There is no death for such aa these. Pale King, keep then their ashes groy« Or fling them to the seven seas : 'Tis vain ! They live, and live for aye — There is no death for guch as these. — Frida Wolfe. Westminster Gazette. JOHN O ( DREAMS. What a. world that was you planned üb— Made of Summer and the sea Whero the very wind that fanned ut Drifted down from Arcady. There whero never fato might sunder Rose your castle's shining beams. Are you there to-day, I wonder, John o' Dreams? That was but a trick Life played you When this planet knew your birth, When she trapped your soul and made you Ono of us on dreary earth. Since for you what fancies crossed it, Lures of alien stars and streams ; Have you found the path or lost it, John o' Dreams? Just a litle day in May-time Once I took the road with youj Just a boy and girl in play-time With a vision to pursue. I but glimpsed the glow around it Ere I turned, and yet it seems Sometimes that you surely found it, John o' Dreams. — Theodosia Garrison. Life (New York). LITTLE HOUSE O' DREAMS. A little house with windows wide A-looking toward the sea ! How have you come — why have you come To mean so much to me? Your wßllb within my heart are raised, And, eh, how strange it seems, My hopss but measure to your roof, O little house o' dreams ! 0 little placo where friends will come, Tho tangled world to flee ; Brave little nook whero peace will bide, And hospitality ! Pray where'a the magic wand 1 need To touch your slender beams, And change you to a home in. truth, 0 littlo house, o1o 1 dreams? — Claire Wallace Flynn. Ainaleo's Magazine • WHY SHOULD I FEAR? Why Bhould I fear the change? The winds that blow Are wafted by his hand that rules the air. 1 "can but hope and trust ; and need not care, But leave it all to him who wills it so. 'Twill bo no new croation I shall know, And under no new laws I'll enter there ; Tho Lord, who made this world so grand and fair, Has made tlfat beautiful to -which I go. As love was of my gospel here on earth, My aim the beautiful, tho true, tho good So to prepare for heavenly ascent, I feol that, when my spirit has new birth, My weakness, strength, endeavour, understood, Ho will sustain, by power beneficent. — George Birdseye. Springfield Republican. CORE OF MY HEART. The love of field and coppice, Of green 'and shaded lanes, Of ordered woods and gardens, Is running in your veins: Strong love of grey-blue distance, Jirown streams and soft grey skies— I know but_ can not share it : My love is otherwise. I love n. sunburnt country, A land of sweeping plains, Of ragged mountain ranges, Of droughts and flooding rains. 1 love her far horizons, 1 love her jowel-sea, Her beauty and her terror — The -wide brown land for me ! The stark white ring-barked forests All tragic 'neath the moon, X1 i? sanphire-mistod mountains, The hot sold hush of noonGreen tangle of the brushes Where litho lianas coil, And orchids deck tho tree-top% And ferns the crimson soU. Core of my heart, my country ■ Her pitiless blue sky, When, sick at heart around us We sec tho cattle die ... And when the grey clouds gather, And we can bless again The drumming of an army, The steady soaking rain. Core of my heart, my oountry, Land of the rainbow gold— For flood and fire and famine She pays us back threefold. (Over the thirsty paddocks Watch, after many days, Tho fllmvveil of greenneßS That thickens as you gaze !) An opal-hearted country, A wilful lavish land — All you who have not loved her, You will not understand. Though earth holdß many splendours, Wherever I may die, I know to what brown country My homing thoughts will fly. —Dorothea Mackellar. {spectator. COME NOT WITH TEARS. Come not with tears tn whero I lie When all mv days and years go by; Say that you ever heUI me dear, And I shall hear. Lay no red roses on that spot, But lilies and forget-me-nots ; And if you say you miss me so, Mv heart will know. Mourn not for me, but passing there Speak in your heart one silent prayer; Say that my love your life has blest And I shall rest. — Clifton Bingham. St. James's Budget.