LADIES' PAGE.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 705, 4 September 1885, Page 4

LADIES' PAGE.

Raving appointed a lady to conduct this page, we have to request that all communications upon domestic matters, dress, cuisine, dsc. i&c., be addressed to Madame Elise, of the New Zealand Mail. A POET’S WOES. Bisten to me ! I -will disclose, To you the depths of a poet’s woes. "When the muses nine desert our path ; "We can only wait in patient faith— No glittering stars of thought arise At will, to illume the meutal skies. No flowery words come forth to robe Our fancies sweet in pleasant garb ; The pictures of the mind are lost la one wild chaos, tempest toss’d, Reason is impotent, strength of will, In this one instance, powerless still. The poet sadly wanders foTth, The loneliest thing on this wide earth, The fear of deep oblivion broods Upon the mind in darksome moods ; And in the gloom no ray of light Sheds its bright radiance o’er the night, Until some friendly hand is seen. Some kindred soul suggest a theme— The muses once more reign supreme ! —Sunbeam. TWO MAIDS. They were two young maids that wandered away, And one wore a silken gown, And ruffles and ribbons and lace so gay, And wonderful curls of brown. Eight royal fair in the face was she. And passers marvelled who she might be— And they wandered far from town. The other walked, in homespun clad Her face—it was scar’cely fair ; No ribbons) ruffles, nor lace she had — And she braided her yellow hair. But she dropped a coin in a beggar’s palm, She soothed a child with a kiss like balm, And smiled at the fresh’ning air. The dainty maiden gathered her lace From the beggar’s touch aside : She frown’d at the child’s small, tearful face ; She scowl’d when the wind blew wide : “ It ruffles my toilet so complete !” “ Tet, ah,” said the other. “ It blows so sweet !” And. they wandered side by side, “Now listen,” said she of the yellow hair, “ Doyon hear the sheep hells ring ?” But the other answered, “ Care —take care—- ■“ See that ugly spider swing !” “ It’s web is finer than finest lace,’’ Said Yellow Hair with a sparkling face, “ And its crown is fit for a king !” Then that dainty maid in a vex’d despair Said the marsh had wet her feet ; But Yellow Hair, with the happiest air, Cried “ Violets ! —ah, how sweet !” And she plucked them fresh from the moistened grass, And deck’d her girdle, and on did pass. With steps that were always fleet. “ The sun’s so hot !” on the meadow crest Cried the maid so dainty bred : Afar the forest nodded at rest, And the new oak shoots were red ; All tremulous shimmered the heated air ; With eyes uplifted— *' The world's so fair t” Was all that the other said. And ever to one the woods were dim And the troublous thorns detained. There was mud by the river’s crystal rim And the strange wood berries stained, While the other harkened the forest’s hush And noted the river’s gleam and rush, In the strength of the spring unchained. W-hen questioned, “ What have you seen today ?” .. . . Then the dainty maid cried, “ Thorns, spiders, a marsh ; so hot the way ! . • I’m torn and awry beside !” But, Yellow Hair, ” ’Twas so fresh and sweet ! The fair land blossomed beneath out feet, And-the sky was so blue and wide !” And 6ft and oft to myself I say, Oh, maid with the haughty grace, You’ll go through life in the self-same way, With a frown on your handsome face ; But give me tho maid that can see alway The beauty that blossoms for every day, "Where you see never a trace.