ORIGINAL VERSE.

Southland Times, Issue 20201, 11 June 1927, Page 22 (Supplement)

ORIGINAL VERSE.

|I |||||| I |||||| I |||| I , 11 ,„,J tt „||, ullll , m A SECRET. There’s a wood called Memory down a road that wanders west; In a little mist-wreathed valley where the night-winds sigh; When the last little baby is tucked into his nest, And the star-buds waken in the garden of the sky, The mothers of the world come here to live the day anew; And if you’re very careful not to make the slightest noise, You will hear the swish of footsteps in the darkness and the dew, As they follow up the laughter of their little girls and boys. And oh, the hours they spend here when the fire is burning low, As they dream of happy children with sunny, tousled hair; While they darn the little stockings and the tiny patches sew, And think they hear wee voices lisping in the stillness there. So if you have the toothache when you should be sound asleep, And you come downstairs to Mother in the night, You are almost sure to find her when you take a tiny peep, In a wood called Memory just beyond the sunset light! —4 marks to Cousin Daphne Godward (17), “Rockhaven,” 397 Elies Road, North Invercargill. I cannot say much about each individual poem this week, my dears. There isn’t room; and, besides, they are all worthy of praise, and I want to find a place for them all in this column. Cousin Daisy Ward’s “Supremacy” is good. Her rhythem is much better, and she has worked up to her conclusion firmly and well. SUPREMACY. A shy new primrose Braves the winter’s frost, Its pale petals open, To sunshine almost lost. Its sweet quaint perfume Seems to breathe of spring, Of grasses all a-rustle; Gay skylarks on the wing. The first opening violet, Lifts its purple head And smiles at winter’s coldness, From ’midst its leafy bed. Grim winter sways his sceptre, And rules, a king supreme, For springtime still is sleeping, Is still but just a dream. —4 marks to Cousin Daisy Ward (16), Awarua Plains. Cousin Myrtle Somerville has continued to show that originality of treatment and idea which she has had right from the beginning of her verse-making. Her “Winter Sunlight” is fashioned quaintly, and her method is charmingly effective, the second verse being particularly good. WINTER SUNLIGHT. It shimmers thro’ The mists of blue That shades the vale with grey, It glimmers thro’ The fir-trees too, At break of day. It shimmers on the dew and frost, The jewels the fairies lost While dancing in the moonlight. Fairy tears have been their cost. The dew and frost That shimmer in the June light. —4 marks to Cousin Myrtle 0. Somerville (15), Bluff Road, Clifton. I liked the quietness of Cousin Annie Playfair’s newest poem, and the new simplicity of style. The idea has been used before, of course, although Annie has presented it very effectively. A MEMORY. I wonder if you think I have forgotten, Forgotten half the joy of that last day, We spent in perfect happiness together Before you went away. We did not know that day that you were going, We did -«ot know we were so soon to part; We did not know our last “Good-bye,” was spoken, —“Good-bye” without a start. Dear friend, I know I will remember always The day when all the sky seemed brighter blue, And in those hours when clouds roll back behind me, I will remember you. —3 marks to Cousin Annie Playfair (16), Gummies Bush. There is some good work in Cousin Millicent Broadbent’s poem on “Winter,” but at times the rhyming is a little stilted, and the meaning slightly involved. “Will not venture forth without,” is a bad line—in this case “forth” and “without” have exactly the same meaning. WINTER. Welcome winter, welcome here, For thou art not half as drear, When thy season doth awake, As pessimistic song would make. Sing of summer, sing of spring, For certainly they pleasures bring, Or of autumn’s lovely showers, For there, too, are happy hours. But of winter to me sing, For verily the pleasures bring Tastes of autumn, summer, spring, And of all the happy hours, When chrysanthemums are flowers. And if brisk he is and cold, We will greet him as of old; For though icy, he is kind, And in him we pleasures find. And if a storm his face o’er covers, Then we too are fireside lovers; And while we hear his voices shout, We’ll not venture forth without. Come, then winter, with thee bring All the joys of which we sing! —3 marks to Cousin Millicent Broadbent (15), 5 Compton Road, Trafalgar, Invercargill. Cousin Elsie Amos used the same rhythmic idea in a poem once before. “The Weather” is quite a good poem, with a good idea and plan of method behind it. But she should not have changed her verse pattern in the last verse. It spoilt the effect somewhat. THE WEATHER. Softly, softly, the mist comes down Until it’s thickly o’er us, And small shrubs, both green and brown, Stand like giants before us. Silently, silently, the frost comes down, Quietly creeping o’er us, And in the morning when we wake, Thefe it is white before us. Softly, softly, the snow comes down On to the window ledges, Into fields both green and brown, And covering all the hedges. Patter, patter, the rain come down, Steadily growing faster Until things are wet all around, And then the wind comes after. Gloriously the sun comes down, Its heat is spread o’er us, And all the birds begin to sing, High in the trees before us. I Beautiful it shines to-day, To-morrow it may be away, None can tell, for no one knows, When the sunshine comes or goes. —3 marks to Cousin Elsie Amos (14). Mabel Bush.