SELECTED VERSE

Hawera Star, Volume XLVI, 8 January 1927, Page 18

SELECTED VERSE

LITTLE GREEN HOUSE OF DELIGHT.

O little green house of delight. On little green walls of my world; 1 am come once again to your porches oloom-white, ]'o your stem-woven lattices, sunny and bright-, Ami \our curtains of flowers unfurled.

There are rooms where the skies interlace With carters of climbing sweet pca-s; And old, pet ailed tapestries luing in each place, Where intricate tendrils their arabesques trace, And it stairway of gnarled appletrees !

There are carpets of cobweb and rose, And poppy-red mats on the floors; And gummy green passages, nobody knows, Sure- the little wind fanning out scents as it- goes, And white lilies carved on the doors!

(> little green house of delight I () little green garden of mine! With your ceilings of azure that darken at night, And 1 your bloomy white casements that never shut tight, ( You give me a joy that s divine. _..yrvra- Morris, in the Australasian.

I’llK ANGEL of the titled

An angel bent on hushened wing.-, of To upon the old world's weary And saw care-wrinkles stamped by humdrum malts, , . And tired-out hands and feet and soulb and hearts; „ . . ■-y, Saw weary eyes strained wide mth pain and grief; . Saw fevered beads which found no cool relief, Lower and lower drooped the wings o. 1-n.til they touched the grey earth s troubled breast, And balm-like soothed it m compassion Whi legmen and women blessed God’s angel—Sleep. ONE DAY'S LONG REST.

She had no song to sing; her notes were dumb . With minor drabs and greys Those little frets which daily seemed to come And -silence psalms or praise. The toiling and the “making both ends meet” — the rust of commonplaceHad blotted out the smile all cheery, sweet, t Which once had sunned her Lace. She paused and thought; then took a dav’s long rest Of hand and foot and brain; Ana strength and hone back into bet breast With ca'ols once again.

WINNING THROUGH,

Give me space on the hills, or the sweep of the plain, Where an axe learns to smg, ulun a home is the gain, And a man gauges well while he to queis the land, . , The wide scope of his brain by t work of his hand. And I ask for a mate, who will manage inside . For the sake of the man who is toiling outside; . And of fare just enough, and the grit to win through, Till the short stubble shows where the rich harvest grew. Then a vision I'll hold of a vista so wide, Where my children shall play on the sloping hillside, . And the fragrant young gum trees their blazing tips show, While the wattle disports on the ridges below. Oh. the sons I will breed, mighty men of the race! f,i their hearts shall this dear land possess pride of place; When the toil of my hands hath their heritage won, Uuv it pass down the ages from father to son. Margaret McDonald in the Sydney Morning Herald.