The Poet’s Corner.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 976, 14 November 1890, Page 4

The Poet’s Corner.

TO THE CRICKET. Didst thou not tease and fret me to and fro, SweetspiriS of this summer-circled field, "With, that quiet voice of thiue, that would not yield Its meaning:, though I mused aud sought it so ? But now I am content to let itgo, To lie at length and watch the swallows pas 3, As blithe and restful as the quiet grass. Content only to listen and to lcuovr That years shall turn and summers yet shall shine, And I shall lie beneath these s-vaying trees. Still listening thus ; happy aijlast to seize Aud reader in some happier verse divine That friendly, homely, haunting speech of thine, That perfect utterance of content and ease.

BIRTH AND DEATH, They say thatiwith the coming of a child The hearts are closer knit that loved for this ; And that they only kno v full earthly bliss Who see their own lives new and undeiilsd ; And the light of teatjexistence mild Behold, through shadowy halo, theirs, and miss The aftergrowth of sin and passion wild— What was and might have been limned in what is. Bat when a little child joins hands with death, Then is there closer, stronger union. When life, but ju3t beginueth, waudereth, Thus early weariful of drawing breath. Nearer grow hearts whose child has come and gone. Since death and loneliness have made them one. SONG OF THE CONSUME! ATELY SOULFUL. I shall wed affair esthetic, Quite regardless of expense ; All I ask that Bhe be utter, Aud in all things quite tintentje. Limp, of course, aud lank she must be Clad in minor tones of green, Consummately soulful,Jearnest, Must she be, my precious queen. We sballjfeast on lilies daily, Quaffing draughts of.beautyjfair, With a dish of ferns on Sunday, Or a peacock’s feather rare. Thus shall our lives forever, Like two gently gurgling rills, Breathing poesy and too-too, And her dad shall foot the bills. WHEN LILACS BLOOM. A dream of the past comes back to me, Witn the lilac’s purple bloom ; Fora strong association lurks In its subtle and Rweet perfume. I see the old gray honse once more. * Neath the shelter of stately trees. Whose branches brush the mossy roof With every passing breeze. But dearest of ail is tho garden old, With borders quaint and trim. And the walk where the rows of lilacs made An archway cool aud dim There’s a mint of golden jonquils there, And thyme, and mignonette. And fragrant lilies of the vale In the shade with the violet. I hear my name in a fresh young voice That was music to my earj; Ah, ’tis but a dream, for I know that voice Has been silent many a year. But the lilacs will bring these dreams to me, Along with tho sweet spring weather ; And my heart returns to tho hallowed spot Where as children we played together. And I think if I only could go back Thro’ the years of sorrow and pain ; I should find my beautiful childhood there, And live it all over again !