From The Poets

Southland Times, Issue 20014, 30 October 1926, Page 23

From The Poets

A VERMONT PATHWAY. What hath man made More lovely than a path? A very gentle thing a pathway is. Patterned by stippled sunlight, Sifted through Leaves shyly turning from the wind’s soft kiss. Green aisles of peace,, Where warblers unafraid, Send forth their songs—The thrush on tremulous wing Pours from his tiny throat, A note so sweet One’s answering soul must sing. Hills are intrepid things. And torrents swift Shout their exultant glory in their stress. Tall sentinels of peace Shut stillness in, And keep unspoiled a pathway’s gentleness. —A. Lewis Colwell. THE CALL In the shade of a beautiful widespreading tree, Sat Alice and Joseph and Annabelle Lee, Who waited politely for Richard and me. I dressed in my very best dress, for you see, We were the guests at their Five O’Clock Tea. The tea was not tea, but the best lemonade, The cakes were delicious; and were served by the maid. We sat very still, and our voices were low; We were pleasing our families, who certainly know That good manners are needed, each hour of the day; But right at my ride, I saw the swing sway So lightly and free in the soft summer breeze, While I longed for a ride through the great leafy trees. Then I thought of my blue gingham dress, right next door, And the hat and the shoes which I usually wore, When all of a sudden I heard Joseph sigh, As he glanced at his pumps, and his very best tie. Then I smiled, so did Alice, and Annabelle rose, “Let’s play games,” she said quickly, “But we’d best change our clothes.” —Elizabeth Mallory. A SONG. T saw some clouds like white hands Waving to the sea. I saw some golden sailing boats Bending to the quay. With shining silver fish for you, And silver fish for me, And the waves about the brown keels Splashed a melody, While the windy clouds, like w’hite hands Were waving to the sea. —Marjorie Wilson. THE PIONEER. When I was just a little tot, So long ago I’ve ’most forgot, I used to suck my thumb a lot— And that was silly, Was it not? Then Baby came, and he would coo And try to suck his wee thumb, too! Well, I could see that wouldn’t do— So I stopped sucking thumbs. Have you ? —Henry Edison Williams.