SPRING

Southland Times, Issue 22999, 19 September 1936, Page 23 (Supplement)

SPRING

— PRIZE —

The birds are building in the trees, They are as busy as the bees, Wee lambs are frisking on the green, And everywhere new life is seen. The daisy and the buttercup Their little buds are opening up, A thrush is singing sweet and cleat, “Spring is here, Oh spring is here.” —Prize of 1/- to Cousin Lex O’Callaghan (10), Dipton.

— PRIZE —

The golden gorse is blooming, On the hillside once again; And nothing could be sweeter, In the sunshine after rain.

The little buds are peeping, On branches brown and bare, And bird-songs sweet and bell-like, Now tumble in the air.

TJie daffodils have opened, Their parasols of gold, And nodding in the sunshine Their petals now unfold.

The buttercups so dainty, With golden hearts so fair, Are dancing with the breezes, So gay and free from care. —Prize of 1/- to Cousin Matty Winsloe, V.A.C. (16), care Mrs W. R. Ireland, Otautau.

-VERY HIGHLY COMMENDED.— A tender, haunting, sweet refrain Has burst to Springtime’s wildest strain, Her slender fingers swept the strings, The harp of Springtime’s hidden things, New, joyous passions, sweet and wild, The lovely gift of Springtime’s child. The golden daffies throng around, A mystic carpet on the ground. The blossoms blush to rosy tints, Such wonderous things that music hints. The earth has donned a wedding veil, Transparent beauty, perfumed, frail. Shy violets dewy faces raise, To Spring’s rich store to add their praise. The lovely songsters shy and wild, Sing of their joy to Springtime’s child. As falling leaf, her footfall light, Swift as a tui in her flight, The tender music of her mirth, Has touched the springs of throbbing earth, And breathed to life the folded flowers, Tucked there from Winter’s icy showers. At fleeting touch of magic lips The crocus flaunts its golden tips. The modest snowdrop bows its head, And dreams within the garden bed. The breeze plays in “Her” cloudy hair

Twining its golden tendrils there, Sighs in willows of delicate hue, Which sway o’er mirrors of tender

blue. The perfumed lawyers gently sway, Where gilded butterflies delay— Gold of the sunshine sifting through, Gold of the gorse against the blue. The skylark pours its flood of song, Where silver cloudlets float along. Where bushland sways its tender green, With twining clematis between. The tui thrusts its gleaming bill Into the cups, which ever spill Their perfumed nectar for the bees, Which hum between the rustling trees, While ever through the laughing hills, Spring’s joyous music swells and thrills. So to your- hand, the cup I bring; ’ Drink from the goblet the wine of Spring. —3 marks to Cousin Isobel McKenzie M.A.C. (15), Dipton. —VERY HIGHLY COMMENDED.— In the woods so cool and green, The bellbirds always sing, And from the mosses cool and green, The tender daffies spring. I know that in the dewy grass, Upon a little hill, Far away from any habitation, Is spring’s first daffodil. On the trees so big and tall, Little buds are growing, And by the banks of cowslips tall, Little streams are flowing. —3 marks to Cousin Constance Lloyd V.A.C. (12), Nightcaps-Beaumount R.D.

—HIGHLY COMMENDED.— I pause, as borne upon the crooning breeze, I hear faint strains of tender music drift, Soft whisp’ring through the green

and misty trees, Among the swelling buds that proudly lift. I hear fairy footsteps rustling near, A miracle is coming in her train, No season to the longing earth so

fair, As Spring with golden sun and gentle

rain. The glowing blooms are nodding by the way, And fragrance rises from the waking

earth, For Spring is here and flowers rise

to stay, From hidden beds awakened by her

mirth. —2 marks to Cousin Isobel McKenzie M-A.C. (15), Dipton.

—VERY HIGHLY COMMENDED.— I lay beneath the brilliant sun, Alone, apart from ev’ryone. The grass so sweetly intertwined. With daisies white, and right behind, Some mellow notes from near-by tree, Came o’er the cooling breeze to me. It dawned on me that tune so clear, That joyous Spring now must be here; Yes, ‘mid the daisies tall and bright, Shone daffodils ’neath warm sunlight.

—3 marks to Cousin Catherine McGillivray (14), Menzies Ferry.

—VERY HIGHLY COMMENDED.— Beneath a dead old apple tree There lay a fairy sleeping, Between the boughs to waken her The rosy sun was peeping. She jumped with fright and then awoke, And up from slumber springing, She cried, “Oh was it all a dream Or did I hear the singing?” Then I heard a gentle rustle Saw a bright and flashing wing, And I left the little fairy . In the happy arms of spring.

—3 marks to Cousin Daisy Wilson (11), South Hillend.

—VERY HIGHLY COMMENDED.— The shy little crocus Of purple hue, Peeped from the dark earth. To a sky of blue. The sweet little violets Opened their eyes, And wafted their sweet scent Up to the skies. The daffodil tall, Said he was king Of all the flowers In the glorious Spring. The poor drooping snow-drop, The most fragile flower, Said what she liked best Was a September shower. Then the flowers all agreed, To join and sing, And to do their best, To welcome Spring. —3 marks to Cousin Jocelyn Horner (12), “Mayfield,” Winton R.D.

—VERY HIGHLY COMMENDED.— “Spring,” call the children, Is coming here again. Spring is bringing sunshine, And drizzly sorts of rain. “Wake,” call the daffodils, To show your pretty flowers. I know that you will stand here, For many, many hours. “Tweet,” call the birdies, For the spring is coming. All the flowers are opening, While the bees are humming. “Woof,” call the doggies, Can’t you hear me say. Come and bring your playfriends, On such a lovely day. —3 marks to Cousin Celia Smith ( 1 3), Halfmoon Bay, Stewart Island.

—VERY HIGHLY COMMENDED.— Daffodils do dance all day; Crocuses lift heads and play; Spring is here. Springtime’s here with flowers so sweet; Daisies dancing round your feet; Spring is here. Spring is here with joyful song; The sun is shining all day long; Spring is here. —3 marks to Cousin Betty Greer (13), M.A.C., M.M.S. 295 Herbert street.

Once more the season comes along, And she her beauty wears. The birds put forth a happy song, The heralds all their airs. The heralds are the stately trees The trumpeters, the birds, And when the traveller springtime sees, He’s too enthralled for words. —3 marks to Cousin Albert Moore A.C. (10), 57 St. Andrew street.