Poetry.

Lake County Press, Issue 2168, 9 May 1907, Page 2

Poetry.

THE END OF THE PLAYSllE had been so shy and winning, As sho spun hor spangled noose, Even from the play's beginning— Just as pretty maids may choose, liucklcd shoos with bows to fasten, Thorn-priekcd finger-tips to mend : Childish things to rise and mock him AY hen tho play was at its end! Time had been so lightly dated : Gardens had been Ei.en's bowers ; Love would spring where Fancy waitc As the May-buds after showers. Winding ways beside the waters, Gifts of ivy and of rose : Memory laugh'd bofore his vision When the play was at its close! ' We have had a lovely season; You have been so very good.' Had she blinded all his reason With her matchless maidenhood ? ' Love ! Oh no. My heart is given ; You wcrc'novcr more than friend.' Then a profile with a dimple, And the play was at its end! With the rosos' languid sweetnoss, With each bitter autumn's strife, Still her memory, in completeness, Made a desert of his life.

Xoblc women might have loved him ; Uut lie smil'd : 'The saints defend ; Love is us a gilded baublo' — "When the play was at an end. —Edith Ruttcr-Loathaui. M£R iPELI. What your spell of subtlo art, Lady, thus to win our hoart ? Is it that your face is fair, Your manners soft as summer air ? Is it that your voice's tone lias a sweetness all its own ? Is that your gentle mind Knuws no thought that is unkind? Is it that each living thing Moves your heart to pitying ? Is it that each llower that blows You for Nature's lover knows? Is it that within your eyes Much of quiet wisdom lies ? Tell me, lady, what the spell "Wins us thus to love you well ? —T. r. Johnsor.