WHAT AILS THE WORLD?

Otago Witness, Issue 3006, 25 October 1911, Page 70

WHAT AILS THE WORLD?

"What ails the world 1 ?" the poet oried; "And why doss death wa,lk everywhere? And why dto tears fall anywhere? And skies have cloud®, and souls have care?" And thus the poet sang, and sighed. For he would fain have all things glad, All lives happy, all hearts light; Not a day would end in night, Not a wrong would vex a right, And ao he sang, and l he was sad. Thro' his very grandest Thymes Moves a mournful monotone, Like a shadow eastward thrown From a s>iHis>et, like a moan Tangled in a joy-bell's chimes.. "What iails the world?" he sang and asked, And asked and sang, but- all in vain. No answer oame to any strain, And no reply to his refrain— The mystery moved 'round him, masked. "What ails the world?" an echo came—- " Ails the world'"; the minstrel bands, With famous or forgotten bands, Lift up •their lyres in all the lands And chant alike, and ask the same— From him whose soul first soared in song— A thousand-thousand years away, To him who sang but yesterday, ( In dying or in deathless lay, "What iails the world?" cornea from the throng. They fain would sing the world to rest, And so- they chant in countless keys As many as the waves of seas, And eis the breathings of the breeze. Yet even when they aing their best— When o'er the list'ning world there floats Such melody as 'raptures men, When all look up entranced, and 1 when The song of fame floats forth, e'en then A discord creepeth thro' the notes.

Their sweetest ha.rps have broken airings, Their grandest accords have their jars, Like shadows on the light of stara; And somehow something ever ma.T3 The song the greatest minstrel sings.

And so the song is incomplete, ' And not a rhyme can ever round Into the chords of perfect sound, .The tones of thought e'er surround The ways walked by the poet's feet. "What mils the world'?" he sings and sighs No answer cometh to his cry— He asks the earth ,and asks the sky(, The echoes of his song pass by Unanswered', and the poet dies.

—Shameock.