SELECTED POETRST.

Taranaki Herald, Volume XLIX, Issue 11818, 16 November 1901, Page 2 (Supplement)

SELECTED POETRY.

THE SILENT HOUSE.

BY N. D. TJBNER.

She idly wanders from room to room, Or sits alone from the world apart ; To her the mansion is as a tomb, And its silence burdens her weary heart, Though a blithe canary sings half the day From its gilded perch, and the air is bright,And out on the lawn in its rippling play A fountain murmurs through day and night. And the plants in the windows rustle Boft-footed'servants traverse the halls, While anon and ever a carven clocfc Heots of the hour- with cuckoo-calls. Bat silent and hushed to the lady there, The airy mansion around her glooms, And, "Oh, for the shout on the- stately stair, And £he children's echoes among the rooms ! "Will they ever come back ?" she inly moans ; "Must the house forever be stricken dumb? Oh, joyous, giddy, and breezy tanes ! Will ye never again to my hearing come ?" And still the silence on heart and brain Broods heavy and deep, like a haunting fear ; -She would give the world for their laugh again, • Or even to hear them wrangling near. There are instruments which her ready skiU .. t Gould wake to music on eitner hand, And the music-box by the window- sill Was the pride and marvel of Switzerland ; And laughing friends, at her will s control, In joyous bevies would round her stir ; . . But no : the silence of heart acd sou Will never be broken, it seems, for ; her. . , j None dare to speak of that hour of doom When death her idols despoiled for And so she wanders from room to room And hugs her Borrows the livelong day. And often, too, at the dead of night, A lisping laugh, or a broken cry, Dispels her dream, and with vague delight She turns to the tenantless crib near by. And then the silence more awful grows, And she cowers away in the hush profound, While the darkness gathers more dense and close Her longing spirit and heart around. And, "Oh," she moans, "that day would come j When Time, the healer, will soothe j my breast I' 1 And, "Oh, ior the tones that forever are dumb, And the patter of feet that are laid to ress I"