Among the Poets

Star (Christchurch), Issue 16261, 30 October 1920, Page 6

Among the Poets

esse]

A WAR TIME TOAST. Here a to the blue of the wind swept North J +b D the . Mdß France,' May the spirit 0 f Grant be over thorn aji ' thI 80 ”* ° f l' h j , e . North *<b*aeol Hero s to the grey of the sun kissed South, i they meet on the fields of Prance ; May the spirit of Lee be over them all, as the sons of the Smith advance! Here s to the Blue and Grey as one. when they meet cm the fields of Franca , May the spirit of God be over them all, as the Sons of the Flag -advance. —B. L. Mayo. NUTHATCH. Tree mouse, sprite of winter cheer Creeping topsy-turvied crown, Comeat thou from alien sphere Tilth thy ways of upside down? Alien strange thy nasal call Prom the singing throat of hird. . i easting at the sylvan wall Spank thy thanks in foreign word? . Grab nor borer miss thine eyes. ■ Pavcst thou for daily food Death to hidden enemies, Littlo warden of the wood! Steals a, love song through tho tree* ' Mystic as the veery’s own. Breathe all elfin secrecies In thy chanted monotone. —Huey Bartlett Stevens THE POETRY WORLD, 0! there is more of poetry In the sweet hymn of birds. Than all that the poets could ever breathe In ad the chime of words; Moro music in one thrilling note Soft-gushing from a, mock-bird’s throat. Than over has flowed from minstrel’s lyre, However warmed with hallowed Ate. There is n world of poetry In flowers and trees and tills; And stanzas of immortal song Are echoed through the hills"; ■ The winds and waves, the bending grass , That trembles whore the waters pass; The stars that twinkle in the sky Are rich with heaven-born minstrelsy. —Matilda C. Smiley. THE SLEEPY BROTHER. Liglrinin' show de Thunder De very place I stay, Ho shake ma An’ wake me: < “ Git up dar, I sayl Dc co’n is needin’ hoein' An’ de hose is neodin’ hayl" An' den I tells de Thunder: “De grass so high to-day Hit hides do aun An’ ever’ one, An’ I can’t fin* my way, I An’ vr’en dc hoss git hongry “ HoTl fin’ de road ter hay!” PARIS. Paris, Paris, Paris, Insouciant, careless, gay. Paris, Par?-, Paris, Turning night to‘day, Paris, Paris, Paris, Bubble, foam and froth Tested in the furnace, 1 Deathless in your troth. Paris, Paris, Paris, Pulso of Prance’s frame. Paris, Paris, Paris. Temple of the flame. Paris, Paris, Paris, What shall force avail ’Gainst the bastions of the soul Cased in triple mail? Paris, Paris, Paris. Gloaming in the sun. Paris, Paris, Paris, Target of the Hun. Paris, Paris, Paris, s Though tho towers fall, Time shall set your standard Victor over all. , —Maurice Morris. THE SONG OF THE THRUSH. Speckled was his breast (Appearing) on tho bronohe* On the edge of the brook Singing with the dawn Among the green leaves As a thoueapd flowers. All hear him, As a silver bell. Prom > the branches of tho hazel He sings an ode With a carol of love To all in tho hollow Balm of the heart Of broad green leaves, To God tho Creator, Prom the green glade v Of the glen, who love hlmj To those who love. TIS MORN. Tia mom I—in clustered rays increased— Exulting rays, that deeply drink The starlight of the cast, And strew with crocus dyes the brink Of those blue streams that pause and sink bar underneath their heavenly strand— Soft capes of vapour, ribbed like sand. Along the Loire white sails are flashing, Through stars of spray their dark oars dash, nig; The rocks ara reddening one by one, ’ h< ' i-unile sandbanks flushed with sun. And crowned with fire on crags and keen cb;vo thv Hfted steep. Far lightening o’er the subject'vale Blaze thy broad ran.ro of ramparts pale! liirough diatfvnce p.zuro aw th« sky That vale sends up its morning- cry From countless leaves, that shaking 'shade Its tangled paths of pillared glade And ceaseless fan, with quivering ooo! Bach gentle stream and slumbrous pool lhat_ catch the leaf-song as they flow In tinkling echo pure and low, ' * Clear, deep, and moving, as the, night And starred with orbs of lily light, ' ' —Kurkin. FLOWERS’ NAMES. DAME’S DELIGHT. There was a Lady walked a wood: She never smiled, nor never could, One day a sunbeam, from the South Kissed full her petulant proud mouth; bho laughed, and there, beneath tie trees Fluttering in the April breeze, * Spread tracts of blossom, green and white Curtseying to the golden light— ’ ■1 Tho broken laugh of Dame’s Delight. —(London “ Punch. ’ TO PHYLLIS. Oh Phyllis, you say in dejection, Which you and I both know is feigned you doubt my eternal affection;- ’* You do not believe you have reigned Supreme In my soul since we parted, A matter of almost three years, you think that my wounded heart smarted Aa briefly as fell your own tears. Ah cynical lady, my passion ■ Tou seem to regard as a spark That glowed in a most ardent fashion Then faded away in the dark. Moat scoffing and scornful your attitude You slander mal e humans' with glee Nor can I feel moved to deep gratitude By all that you say about me. You think that I quickly forgot you? You say I was false to my vow? You charge that another and not you Is she whom Fin worshipping now? You think, and your manners betray it Your charms I’m inclined to neglect. ’ And, pardon me, dear, if I say it, You’r 0 almost entirely correct! - Seattle “Post-Intelligencer,’'