VERSE, OLD AND NEW.

Poverty Bay Herald, Volume XLIX, Issue 16112, 28 April 1923, Page 11

VERSE, OLD AND NEW.

TO MY BABY “KEN”—A LUL

LAB V

Little fragrant flower of love, You lie on mother’s breast; .Sweetly sleep my tender dove, And softly take your rest.

Hush, my babe, the big red sun A ileecy cloud doth wrap, And even ’ere the day is done Sinks in the heaven’s wide lap,

A tiny star doth shyly peep From out the darkening sky, A little wind, aroused from sleep Shall sing your lullaby.

The stately lily bends her head, And listens as he sings, The night moth in the pansy bed Folds for awhile her wings.

Crooning among the tall tree-tops The choir of night he leads, Now in the scented clover drops Now murmurs through the reeds.

Fold those twin petals of a rose, Thy lips—nay, do not frown, Husheen! Hushcen! thv white lids close O’er eves of velvet brown.

Husheen! A little drowsy bird Beneath the eaves docs chirp, The dustman’s footsteps, too, 1 heard, Sprinkling the dust of sleep.

Little fragrant, flower of love Sleep on, the night draws nigh, The stars that twinkle up above, Rock to Earth’s lullabye. —Clare M. Condon, Ormond. * y

FLEETING SHADOWS. The purple shadows fall across the hill, Then but fleeting in their stay, They conic from tho clouds that passing Are blown across tho bay.

The gold-brown grass upon tho hill, Burnt to its summer hue, Shows bright amongst the shadows That move along our view.

The black smoke pours from the towering stack, It’s blown by the wind from west. And its shadows pass as the cloud ones did, And the big hill looks at rest.

And the shadows pass over the dark blue bay, Where the foaming horses ride; So our own purple shadows will fleet as fast,' For the sun, forever, cannot, hide. —Mrs. Douglas Blair. “Tulliallan,” lvaiti.

A GOLFER’S LAMENT. Sometimes a white frost, - Sometimes a thaw, Sometimes a Scotch mist, Sometimes a blaw; Sometimes a sliced shot, Sometimes a miss, Sometimes in that dub, Sometimes in this; Sometimes a pairtner Swecrin’ an’ dowff — There’s aye - something wrung When I’m playin’ gowff. —Murdoch MacLcan,

SAFETY FIRST,

A pair of hedge sparrows were build

‘ ing a home In sight of a popular aerodrome; Above them went wheeling again and

again A vast and vociferous aeroplane.

‘ ‘ I wish wo had chosen a quieter site, ’ ’ Said She, “for the kiddies will wake in the night;” He, “1 imagined the days were gone bv When fierce Pterodactyl Was lord of the sky.”

“They’re breeding like rabbits,” 1 heard Him declare, “Ere long they will hustle us out of our .air; ” “ ’Tis true,’*» She replied, “but a truce to your talk, Wc’U teach all our youngsters to get down and walk.” —A.W.

SNAPDRAGONS. Yellow and red on a pastel green, With a golden tongue in the mouth of you — i Oh! if I should ask where my dear has been Would you answer and tell me true?

If I bold you against my cheek And “Open your mouth, Snapdragon,” say, Would you close it tight and refuse to speak In the nastiest snapdragon way?

O! If you could know of the torturing weeks, The wavering doubts of the midnight hours, Pity you’d givo to a soul who seeks Resolve in petals and faith in flowers.

Yellow and red —what a mask is this! Open your mouths, Snapdragons, pray! Give me the loan of the pollened kiss A wild bee lost on your lips to-day. —AT. Forrest.