AT THE SIGN OF THE LYRE

New Zealand Times, Volume XXXIII, Issue 7419, 22 April 1911, Page 9

AT THE SIGN OF THE LYRE

SELECTED VERSE. THE SPINSTER HEROINE. (Oi\A Poetic Quest For The Woman of Sweot-aud-Forty-five.) [‘‘When/’ tiic ‘'Book Monthly ,JI asks, “will somebody give us a novel of which the happy spinster of forty-five shall be tho heroine’'”] Oft have I searched the libraries to find me Her for whose charms my throbbing heart doth long. Hoping that to her failings love would blind me. Hinting that one so gracious knows no wrong. Through the sad years—no. never mind how jjnany— I have been waiting, watching; but in vain. Joys como to other men: to me —not any: ; Only a yearning close akin to pain I Still, though, X pray Tho bliss that other men feel may bo mine, some day.

I have no craving for the Haid from Hudie's; Blue-eyed, and modest as the violet; Aid to "the country lass my attitude is Distant, as that of one unconquered yet. • : Beauty has lost its power to attract me; 'Coyness, coquetting, leaves me quite unmoved. These hav© not caused the agony that's wracked me, ♦ Fatal as they to other men have proved. No, heroine Whom "Ouida” ever dreamt of to my tasto has been.

She whom I seek is not, perhaps, romantic; ‘ Girlhood and all its follies she's outgrown. ■ . Pretty? No; but her intellect’s gigantic. And all the charms sho has are quite her own, Sho may not move me to great deeds of daring; * ■ Portly, and more than middle-aged is she;• • ■ . But sho will air the winter clothes I’m wearing, , * . = 1 And bo a mother, more or less, to rue. But, I’m afraid, Since she’s elusive, I’ll wed some more winsome maid! i —“Westminster Gazette.”

FORGIVENESS. At dusk the window panes grew grey; Tho wet world vanished in the gloom, The dim -and silver end of day -■ Scarce glimmered . through the little room. . r . And all my sins were, told; I said # Such things to her who knew not-sin — The sharp acho running through my head. • , • . . ’ •*. Tho fever running high within. X touched ''with pain her purity; Sin’s darker sense I could, not bring: My sour was-black as night to me; To her I was , a wounded thing.. I needed love no words could say; She drew me softly nigh her chair,' Mv head upon her knees ,to lay. With cool hands that caressed my hair. She sat with hands as if to bless. And looked with grave ethereal 'eyes; Ensouled by ancient Quietness, A gentle priestess of'tho wise. From "Homeward: Songs by the Way.”- By "A. B.” (John Lane). THE, VISIONARY. Good Friends,.,! lift a farewell cup And drink you peace and health, A iirelit home and household gods. And wine, and joy, and wealth. X maj r not §tay—a voice has called, ■- A .Vision whispers me; . ■ There may be wonder on,tho heights. Or magic ou the sea. Your talk is wholesome bread and meat, Your laughter goodly wine; . Earth-near, earth-sweet, your Vvca lives

Are human and divine, I may not eat with you and 'drink;; In Wonder's Wilderness . Far other banqueting: have I • With shapes yo little guess. Sometimes X talk with, great-eyed Truth, Throned far from fraud and sham. She says '‘Look, deep- into• my eyes And know ino'as I am!" And I have seen, 'twixt star and sun In rosy realms withdrawn, ■ # . , The eyes of Beauty and her hair •' More exquisite than dawn. . : The knights, the paladins, the peers— Who- died, ye say, of old— I meet them clad in shining mail,' Their chargers' shod with gold. These hands and feet, this, flesh and. blood, This body breath, Have known the Fear beyond all fear. The Dread that passes death. The midnight grave is lone and weird. Yet, weirder than the tomb, , The ailing tide, the stirless dark. The Thing that bides in'gloom, Good Friends,. I drink a farewell ©up; The night is at her noon; The.sea mysteriously lies thralled Beneath a mystic moon. —Jtoderic Quinn, in "The Lone Hand." MOONLIGHT.- , , (After Verlaine.) Your soul is as a garden, trimmed and laid , For pleasant revels, where with lute and rout There goes a group in charming masquerade; ' Yet 'neatli their motley saddened eyes ■ look. out. Though Love triumphant is their chanted theme. And sjoyant Life .who calls to man and maid, ‘ Doubting of their own happiness they /seem; 1 Listless their carols in the moon-mists fade. Amid the moon-mists' grey ‘delight that nets ' N - Tho birds upon the boughs in fairy dream. And wakes to ecstas}' the fountain's jets, Tho slender jets that 'mid the marbles ; gleam. —F* O’Neill Gallagher, in London ''Daily News." - THE PARTING. Exceeding sorrow Comsumeth my sad heart! ‘ Because to-morrow We must depart. Now in exceeding sorrow All my part! Give over playing Cast thy viol away: Merely laying Thine head my way: Prithee, *give over playing, G rave or Tjay. Be no word spoken; Weep nothing; let a pal© Silence, unbroken , Silence prevail! Prithee, be no word spoken, Lest I fail! ‘ Forget to-morrow 1 Weep nothing; only lay, In silent sorrow Thine head juy way: Let us forget to-morrow, This one day I —From "The Poems of Ernest Dow son" (John Lane).'