STOIC MARCHING SONG

Sun (Auckland), Volume I, Issue 169, 7 October 1927, Page 12

STOIC MARCHING SONG

(Written for THE SUN.) Though I have no soul to save Boldly march I to my grave Through this hostile country here, Prey of doubt and pain and fear. Son of sorrow, sire of sods. Still I gird back at the gods, Boldly bear five foot eleven Despite Hell and Earth and Heaven. R. A. R. MASON. Auckland. CHRYSANTHEMUMS (Written for THE SUN.) The prim a donna. Summer , all her bouquets threw away; Upon the garden beds they lie , dishevelled, in the rain. She said that she was coming back — her promises were gay —. 1 wonder shall I see her bright chrysanthemums again? The pageant that enthralled us with colour and with bloom, The skies that blazed above us—where are these? The little lane That spilled a million roses, stumbles, leafless, through the gloom—--1 wonder shall I ever see chrysanthemums again? The glamoured yesterday is gone with sunshine and with song, The golden chorus muted to a single note of pain; Not even God can keep his players upon the stage too long—--1 wonder shall I ever see chrysanthemums again The sodden earth is warm, they say, throughout the winter hours For timid things that lie within its bosom in the rain. Forgetting and forgotten, like a prima donna’s flowers — Perhaps I shall not ever see chrysanthemums again. A. GLADYS KERNOT.