ESSAYS IN VERSE.

Evening Post, Volume LXXVII, Issue 63, 11 September 1909, Page 13

ESSAYS IN VERSE.

SPRING'S HERALDS,

Spring s heralds have gone forth to-day, The softest sweetest airs a-blowing : She_ surely will not long delay, Spring's heralds have gono forth to-day.: They fluttered through my garden-way, And eet the groen things all a-growing. Spring's heralds have gono forth to-day The softost sweetpst airs a-blowing. — Elizabeth B. Piercy. Windsor Magazino.

HARD TRUTH. Ah,^ had you loved me long ago, Time had been other for us twain: This comes too late, a blinding blow That stings my whole life into pain ! Why did you rouse mo from my 6leop? Dead silence had become you best. Now your awakened voice will keep Perpetual murmur round my rest.

Dear, do you see the end of this, Or are you blind, for old love's sake? Suppose we meet, join hands and kiss, Drown all regret and. smiling, take Love's best and worst, and be at one? You hold my hands; but here's the gting — , It means, before all this be done, A ruined troth, a broken ring ! — C.K.B. Daily Chronicle. TIME TO GO. ' Young April's here, and all tho wood's astir, Yet ; my feet stir not to bo following her ; Wild cherries stand hung with soft snow of Spring, Yefc my hope knows no sudden .ingA mating bird sings clear those bough's among, But my sad heart sends back no answer- j ittS song: .What, heart of mine, lie you bo cold and numb ? Ah, time wo went ! — dear Life, my "day is done. I hear >the Vipplo of child-laughter low, And, heart, you leap not — it is time to i go. I see young lovers claspt, with rapture dumb. ' And yet I long not— yon, the end is come. Long since, the faith of early days lay dead, And though I dream a loftier in its stead, Lot us go now, 0 heait, lest we should know That dream can die too. It is time to

— Habborton Lufham, St. James's Budget. ■

THE HOUR OF CHAOS

It comoth at tho height of thy attaining, It cometh in tho pit of thy profaning, Or in tho noonday of thy noble straining, Or in the twilight of thy purpose waning, The time when thou must lose the way of things. Then findest thou no -guide in lettered pages, No beacon in the flame of fleshly rages, No shelter in tho bars of gilded cages, But thou must doubt of all thy work and wages ' - Alone in all the blinding day of things. Then doth thy rock of trusting cleave asunder, > Then do thy garnered sheaves appear as plunder ' Torn from a weaker vessel, crushed under ; A finer spirit deafened by the thunder And endless roaring ot the storm of things. Then' all tho powers with thoir sceptres gleaming, And all tho graces orstwhile pure and beaming Become the nightmare spectres bi thy dreaming And all tho world ,is a disordered teeming , And angry Mvnthing of the worm of things. -R. T. Chandler. Westminster Gazette

SAPPHO,

Impassioned singer of the happy time When all tho world was waking into ' morn, And dew still glistened on the tangled thorn, And lingered on tho branches of tho lima— Oh, peerless singer of tho goldon rime, Happy wort thou to live ere doubt wns

. horn — Before tho joy of life was half outworn, And nymphs and satyrs vanished from your chtno. Then maidens bearing parsley in their hands Wound thro- tho groves to where the goddess stands, And marinors might sail for unknown lands Past sea-claspt islands veiled in mystery — And Venus still waa chining from the sea. And Ceres had not lost Persephone. — Sara Teasdale.

A BIRD TO HIS MATE

Sang a littlo bird, in a budding tree, "All, all is mine, all things that I see, — The mountains thore, and the waters near That, (.parkle and dunce in the sunshine clear,

Oh, little wife, see What is ours to shato — All the world so wide, , So good and fair !" Here comes a bee, and he's singing.too, He says: "What a wonderful world I

view, With sunshine to mako the buds unfold Where I may search for my sweets and gold.

It's mine, all mine !" Now the glad bee criee, "This wonderful- world That greets my oyes !"

A child is coming — hark, what does he I say ': 1 "I am ho happy, happy to-day ! [ Mountains, 1 lo\o you i I- love you lake, ' And every good thing that God did make." "Oh, littlo wife !" Sang tho bird in the tree "Stay for a moment And sing with me I, , — Horace Varney j Springfield Republican. MEN NEVER KNOW. Men mourn the lies that women tell — The cunning, heartless lies — Her Judas-lips that hide so well The nai rowing of hei eyes. A heart is her? i she s>eeks to. slay it A soul is hers ; she does not weigh it — • Tho game is called; how well she'll nlav it! Her debt is there ; she does not pa.y it Men mourn the lies that women toll —

Tho cunning, _ heartless lies. Men do not know the lies they near The bravo, heartbroken lies — Hor smiling lips that hide, from fear, / The shadows in her eyes. A heart is herb ; for just a while — A soul is hers; it bears defile — Tho gamo is called ; her wit on trial — Her debt is -there ; dear God ! her smile ! Men do not know the lies they hear — The brave, heartbroken lies ! — Helen Hamilton Dudley. Smart Set". J.W.P.— "The Rising Generation" is better in sentiment than in execution.

Tfc ** probable tnat the body of Victor Hugo will be raised from tho* crypt of * ne Pantheon at Paris and placed under tne dome, together with the dust of Voltaire and Rousseau, now also in tho crypt. This will allow the Rodin statue of Hugo, now nearly completed, to be placed over the sarcophagus, ' as well as that o f Voltaire, which fcjegoffin did, and the ono of Rousseau that Bartholme is at work u,oon, to be grouped near.