Select Poetry.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 361, 11 January 1879, Page 3

Select Poetry.

BEFORE AND AFTER. The voice of the ciake the green corn among, The silent dew falling on hollow and height. An elegant rwm with rich curtains hung, In the gathering dim twilight. The sound of music ; a maiden young, Her dark glossy ringlets waving free ; A youth turning over the page as she sung “ I’ll ever dream of thee.” The love-light beamed in her clear dark eyes As her fingers touched lightly each ivory key, While she thought on her vows and her soft replies ( Beneath the old lilac tree. They cross the room to a low settee That stands in a window deep and wide, And she slips her fair hand in his while he Draws her softly down by liis side. She droops her head on his shoulder there. And looks dreamily out with her grave sweet eyes, As the night grows dusk and the balmy air Is laden with summer sighs. And far in the distance, against the sky, As they watch the faint stars shimmer and shine. He clasps her, and whispers with tender sigh, “ Sweet one, 1 am ever thine.” The evening bells ring a joyful peal As she clings to him close in the darkness there. While his arm round her waist doth softly steal To toy with her silken hair. x- *-•*-*•* •* -a * Since the happy nuptials, a year has gone. And the merest trifle engenders spleen ; A word meaning nought, breathed in anger’s tone Cuts like a dagger keen. They part, but not as fond lovers part, With a warm, soft kiss and a sweet-good night, But with hot wrath in each angry heart, And words that sting and bite. Dark sorrow hath clouded their sunshine o’er In grief they look back on the happier years Of love’s first bloom that now blooms no more. Though watered by their tears. Oh, hads’t thou but smiled, when thou didst frown, Spoken one soothing word, or given one kiss Given anger no place : ah, then, my own. It had not come to this. But thon didst let thy fair brows assume Cloud and tempest; and from thine eye. As lightning flashes from thunder-gloom, Dids’t let fierce anger fly. Ah, often in sadness, often in pain, Whilst love and deep anguish, struggling, wrought, Have I sighed to be good friends again. But thou, my love, would’st not.”; v Tims cold, proud nature rose ever above Little ways of kindess that should have been, Till cold estrangement, the death of love. Crept slowly and sure between. And hearts that loved fondly are parted wide. And warm affection, so kind before, Is withered and chilled by the breath of pride, And hope gone for evermore.