AMONG THE POETS.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 12244, 16 February 1918, Page 2

AMONG THE POETS.

OLD BOOKS, FRESH FLOWERS. My chamber walls—my narrow windowspace, Hold all most dear to me—old books, fresh flowers. Those trusty friends, that faithful company— My books —say, “ Long his slumbers, and wo wait!'’ B'ut my flowers murmur as they look on mo, “ Nay, never chide him, for he watched 6b late!” Brethren and sisters, these of mine! My room Shines fair as with the light of Eden’s bowers; The Louvre is not worth my wallsl abloom With all most dear to me—old books, fresh flowers. Beside your shelves I know not weariness, My silent-speaking books! so kind and wise ; And fairer seems your yellowed parchment dress Than gay morocco, to my loving eyes.' Dear blossoms, of the humble hermit’s choice, In sweetest communing what joys are oursl To you I listen, and with you rejoice; For all I love is here—old books, fresh flowers. ... Rosamund Marriott WatsonTHE WIND BEFORE THE DAWN. Since the cherubim o’er Eden flashed the menace of the sword Upon sacrificial altars hath the blood ■ of martyrs poured. Through long ages, dark with midnight though its beams fell faint and far. God’s Own hand within the shadow kept alight Hope’s guiding star; While the slaves of greed and power, God endowed to think and feel, Sought their heritage of Freedom in war’s thunderous appeal. But at last the far-flung power of tho boasted right of Kings Vanishes before the sunlight that the dawn of Freedom brings! There is clang of breaking fetters and the crash of falling thrones. For a strange new note is sounding n the. war’s chaotic tones; In the throes of deadly conflict, crowns and kingdoms pass away— Like a storm before the coming of a new and perfect day. Lust of power and possession, all oppressions hellish spawn, Flee before the vibrant whisper of the wind before the dawn! For a great world Power waketh that shall bid the strife to cease And intone war’s benediction in a sacred hymn of peace! Beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of Him that brings To the serf afld bondman Freedom, gives them Liberty from Kings! Soon the lifting smoke of battle shall America reveal As the hearer of the message and the keeper of the seal; For the call across the waters hath a mighty nation heard— And they rise ns men and brothers! They shall speak the final word. Under Freedom’s starry banner, men of brain and men of brawn— For the power of the nation is the wind before the dawn. —Edith DaleyFROM “ GREEN BRANCHES.” It may be on a quiet mountain-top, Or in a valley folded among hills You take your path, and often you will stop To hear the pleasant chatter of the rills. The piping of a wind in branches green, The murmuring of widely lifted spray As long boughs swing; And hear the twittering Of drowsy birds when the great,sun is seen Climbing the steep horizon to tho day. The lovely moon trailing her silver dress By quiet waters. Each living star Moving apart in holy quietness, Sphere over golden sphere moving afar. James Stephens.