AMONG THE POETS.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 11763, 29 July 1916, Page 8

AMONG THE POETS.

FOR A CHILD. I hold you close; and I could cry Because you seem so now and dear; And such a helpless warder I To keep your candle burning clear: The curious candle of your breath, Body and spirit's throbbing light. 1 hold you close, while Lii'o and Death Already blow across you. Wliito And soft, and warm against my cheek Oh, I could cry 1 But somehow, you With hands and feet and face bespeak Laughter no tears can quiver through ! A changeling mother I must be, To lati'Wi, and not to cry, at you Dust oi the starry worlds ! —to mo The quaintest joke I ever knew I —Fannie Stearns Gilford. * *

THE EMPTY HOUSE. April will come to the quiet town That I loft long ago, Scattering primroses up and down —

Row upon happy row. (Oh, little greon lane, will she come

your way, To a certain path I knowr) April will pause by cottage and gate In the wild, sweet evening ram. Where the garden borders run brown and straight, To coax them to bloom again. (Oh, little green garden that-once was Must she call to you all in vain?)

April will come to cottage and hill, Laughing her lovers awake. Oh, little closed house, so cold and still, Will she find you for old ioy's sake, (And leave one primrose oeside your door,. Lest the heart of your garden break P) —Theodosia Garrison. A PICTURE, I've a little picture— Artist? No one knows— Just a winding country road • Where a glad wind blows; With a bit of forest Cool and green and still, Set against a morning sky Rose and daffodil.

There's a brook that dancea Underneath a bridge; There's a wood thrush singing Somewhere up the ridge All the wind is honey-sweet With the wild sweet clover, 'Tis the place to pause and dream All your old dreams over.

Oh, I wish that artist Somehow could be told Of the happiness he's hid In his skies of gold; Could but knofr the joy it is Just to drop your load, And to go a-wandering Up his forest road. —Alice F. Allen, y THE PLEA. Lord, when the evening closes, and I stand With eager, fearful hands towards Heaven's far shore, Bring mo no gift of roses, as the sand Runs out, to run again for me no mcrp.

But give me one clear hour at close of day, And whisper, as the darkling shadows fall, The names of friends I lost along the way, The faithful friends I can no more recall.

And while their names upon my lips are set, Oh, speed the silent tides that I must stem, That ere again I slumber or forget, I may begin my eager quest of them. —L. Dodge. • • LITE'S SCENERY. Oh! how the spell before my sight Bring's Nature's hidden ways to light. See! all things with each other blending, Each to all its being lending, All on each in turn depending— . Heavenly ministers descending, And again to heaven up-tending, Floating, mingling, interweaving, Rising, sinking and receiving Each from each, while each is giving On to each, and each relieving Each ... Breathing blessings, see them blending, Balanced worlds from change defending, Whilst everywhere diffused is harmony unending. _ —Goethe's "Faust." • » ONE WAY" OF LOVE. All June I bound the rose in sheaves. Now, rose by rose, I strip the leaves And strew them where Pauline may pass. She will not turn aside? Alas < Let them lie. Sui>pose they dio? The chance was they may take her eye. How many a month I strove to suit These stubborn fingers to the lute I To-day I venture all I know. She will not hear my music p So I Break the string; fold music's wing; Suppose Pauline had bade me sing 1 My whole life long I learned to love. This hour my utmost art I prove And 6peak my passion—heaven or bell? . ' She will not give me heaven t 'Tis well 1 Lose who may—l still can say, Those who win heaven, blest are they I —Browning. V THE JOYS OF THE ROAD. Now the joys of the road are chiefly A crimson touch on the hard-wood trees;

A vagrant's morning wide and blue, In early fall, when the wind walks, too; A shadowy highway, cool and'brown, Alluring up and enticing down From rippled water to dappled swamp, From purple glory to scarlet pomp; The- outward eye, the quiet will, And the striding hear from hill to hill; The tempter apple over the fence; The cobweb bloo'm on the yellow quince ; The palish asters along the wood'— A lyric touch of the solitude; An open hand, an easy show, And a hope to make tho day go " through. Another to sleep with, and a third To wake me ux> at the voice of a bird} A scrap of gossip at the ferry j A comrade neither glum nor merry, "Who never defers and never demands, But, smiling, takes the world in his hands— Seeing it good as when God first saw And gave it tho weight of his will for law. And O the joy that is never won, And* follows and follows the journeying sun, Dy marsh and tide, by meadow and stream, A will-o'-the-ivind, a liglit-o'-dream. The racy smell of the forest loam, When the stealthy, sad-heart leaves go homo; The broad gold wake of the afternoon; The silent fleck of the coid new moon; Tho sound of the hollow s-sa's release From stormy tumult to starry peace j With only another league to wend; And two brown arms at the journey's end! These are tho joys of the open road— For him. who travels without a load. —Bliss Gorman