THE MAGICIANS.

New Zealand Herald, Volume L, Issue 15201, 15 January 1913, Page 10

THE MAGICIANS.

Life flew out on the morning air. Gathering day-dreams and blossoms fair; Stealing a bit of the blue in the'sky; Robbing the clouds, where the sunbeams lie; Taking a note of the wild wind's tune, The new day's beauty of rosy June, The birds' sweet greetings to swaying trees, The wistful whisper of waking breeze; Weaving his gleanings in pattern fair; And a babe is born, from God's everywhere! Love crept forth on the evening mist, Gathering the clouds that the sun had kissed; Stealing a shadow, a dove's low call, The songs of nature, when soft shades fall, The twilight's silver, the rose's blush, The brook's faint ripple, the forest's hush, A gossamer garment he wove and threw Over a maid—and her dreams came true; His magic spell, like the flush of dawn, Suffuses her frame—and a heart is born! Death stole out on a midnight shade. Gathering the blossoms that shrink, afraid, The poppy's scent with its spell of sleep, The doleful dirge of the ocean deep, The mystic toll of the midnight bell, The wings of fairies asleep in the dell, A silver star and an angel's dream, An immortal thought, life's rainbpw gleam; His mantle he fashions for body, worn, And up in heaven a soul is born! ; —WANDA MAY.