FROM THE POETS

Timaru Herald, Volume CXLIII, Issue 20924, 31 December 1937, Page 17

FROM THE POETS

DUSTMAN . . . When I was small, long, long ago, At night the grown-ups said: "We plainly see the dustman’s come, So you must go to bed.” t. A little, quiet man In grey : I pictured gently creep To sprinkle dust In sleepy eyes And make the children sleep, , 0 Now I’m grown up and live In town day with sound of drums, .. As rubbish tins are tossed about, At dawn the dustman comes. From strc-t to street I trace his sounds, ' Thump, bang, from door to door; ' 'I hear the throbbing of his car Which stops—then starts once more. qe'NoW all folk know the dustman is *• A worthy man of men; A trusty friend, a kindly soul, / useful citizen. But when my dreams are spoiled, I muse ““ On one I used to know, " ‘ A silent, small, grey-shadowed man, Dustman of long ago, Who sprinkled from his bag of sleep ji * His dust into my eyes, And wouldn’t think of waking me «= Until the time to rise. —Marjorie Wilson. WHEN THE YEARS HAVE DIED AWAY S p The rain had fallen, the Poet arose, He passed by the town and out of the street; zs A light wind blew from the gates of ol the sun, And waves of shadow went over the wheat. And he sat him down tn a lonely place, And chanted a melody loud and sweet That made the wild swan pause in her cloud And the lark drop down at his feet. The swallow stopped as he hunted the fly, The snake slipped under a spray, The wild hawk stood With the down on his beak, And stared, with his foot on the prey; And the nightingale thought, I have sung many songs, But never a one so gay, For he sings of what the world will be When the years have died away. —Tennyson.

LITTLE BOY BLUE The little toy dog is covered with dust, But sturdy and staunch he stands; The little toy soldier is red with rust, And his musket moulds in his hands. Time was when the little toy dog was new And the soldier was passing fair; And that was the time when our Little Boy Blue Kissed them and put them there. Now, don’t you go till I come, he said, And don’t you make any noise! 80, toddling off to his trundle-bed, He dreamt of the pretty toys. And as he was dreaming an angel song Awakened our Little Boy Blue: Oh, the years are many, the years are long, But the little toy friends are true! Aye, faithful to Little Boy Blue they stand, Each in the same old place, Awaiting the touch of a little hand, The smile of a little face; And they wonder, as waiting the long years through In the dust of that little chair, What has become of our Little Boy Blue Since he kissed them and put them there. —Eugene Field. ALL IS SPIRIT AND PART OF ME A greater lover none can be And all is spirit and part of me. I am sway of the rolling hills, And breath from the great wide plains; I am born of a thousand storms, And grey with the rushing rains; I have stood with the age-long rocks, And flowered with the meadow sweet; I have fought with the wind-worn firs, And bent with the ripening wheat; I have watched with the solemn clouds, And dreamt with the morland pools; I have raced with the waters’ whirl, And lain where their anger ceols; I have hovered as strong-winged bird, And swooped as I saw my prey; I have risen with cold grey dawn And flamed in the dying day; For all is spirit and part of me, And greater lover none can be. What is the smallest room? Now say! I saw one only yesterday. I somehow feel that you will guess— The answer is “a mushroom,” yes!