Among the Poets

Star (Christchurch), Issue 16497, 6 August 1921, Page 4

Among the Poets

A Bouquet of Verses

THE FOREST TREES,

Because you went so suddenly, so suddenly away, Without a singles look behind nor any wora With never »> linger on the Latch »cc foot*step on the grass, I have to ask the forest trees if they have seen you pass, And if they know the way you went and what the reason was? Because you went so silently, so silently the trec3 Oan only siph curd stir and cry and murmur in the breese; As though & shade had crossed the glade, a footstep brushed the dew. . . . I think they know on© passed them eo and guess that it was you; And eo they sigh and fear to cry, test what they cry bo true. Because you went so suddenly, so silently they fling: A deeper shade .across the glado with restless murmuring; But give no answer to my cry, no answer to my call, Where far and wide on every sice they stand remote and tall. Under their boughs the solitude grows deeper . . . that is all. —F. M. Hall ward.

FUGITIVE. Behind these feiling curtains of the rain Beauty goes by, a phantom on the hill, A timid fugitive beyond the lane, In rainy silver, and eo shy and stilly That only peering eyes of some 'hid bird, Or furry oara that listened by » stone, Could cues* at something neither aeen nor heard, Finding escape,. and faring by alone. F-or eyes like ours, too faint a thing and fleet, Too lightly running for such ears to hear The stea-lthy going or those weightless feet; No thrilling eight or sound of her oomos f near; lOnly the shining grasses, where they He, Give hint of silver slippers _ hosting by. —David Merton. | 1 9 ‘ SPRING EVER RETURN* INC.” j Spring ever returning, Cowslips thro’ ages burning . Rainbows never going, Lark-songs like water flowing. Only bayonets rust and die Under the madness of God'a eye.

FRAOCHANS, No hand but e. fairy’s hand Out of dim, imagined land Should pick these berries—for rvhxt day Ever lighted less than they? Or night gathered stairy wingjs Over fainter-shadowed things? My song is ae a water-find That bubbles from the hollow earth, A phell the sea has left behind, A burning faggot on the hearth, A vagrant garden air that blows Sweet with perfume of stock or rose, I know no more of why I eiug Than does the chaffinch in the tree, I o.m an elemental thing, Folded about with mystery, God-begotten, born oi dust— I sing tny song because I must. —Joseph Campbell. LAST THOUGHTS BEFORE SLEEP. Who shall awaken firstr—the saucy queen. The mother of my soul, and mild, The passionate lover, the fixed friend, the Woman of affairs, the absurd and humorous child? Who of them ehall come, an I who shall come When first her mind feels morning, when she reels — Sweet, when we feel ourselves aga-m become What now is slipped from us, slips from us, steals L cannot tell where. . , But row, my mind is so clear, You are so warm and close, so warm a lie, That now is the time to think great tr*inga, with you near, I feel such thoughts as I never had go by . . . Such deep things . . . and presently tell you what I knew. So warm and close, eo close and so warm arc you. —Ch&rloe Williams. CHILDREN’S GARLAND. THE HENS. The night was coming very feat; It reached the gate as I ran past. The pigeons had gone to the tower of the church, And all the hens were on their perch. Up in the barn, and I thought I heard A piece of a little purring word. I stopped inside, waiting end staying, To try to hear what the hens were traying. They were asking something, that waa plain. Asking it over and over again One of them racked and turned around. Her feathers made a ruffled sound, A ruffled sound, like a bushful or birds, And sho said her little asking words. She pushed her head close into her wing, But nothing answered anything. —-Elisabeth Medox Roberts. LIKE THEE. Such ie my life, O Stone, Like thee; like thee, Little atone, Like thee, Light stone; Like thee, A pebble rolling On the roadway. On the pathway; Like thee, H'umble stone of the high-flay g Like thee, Who on stormy dayc Lieet deep. In the mire. Arid at time a Fift-shest into sparks Under the Looi'e And under the wheels; Like thee, who west not made To be a stone Of a warehouse, Of a law-oourt. Of a palace. Nor of e. church; I Like thee. A wandering stones Like thee. Who perchance vtaas mads For a eling only, I A email stone And Light. A literal translation from « book oi Spanish poems, entitled “ Verses and Utterances of a Wayfarer, of Leon Felips ” 1 by Albert F. S„ Rowe. THE DESERT HA» OHE GOO, The defce-yfc has one god, the Great Lord Son. Death is his servant, as the jackals know, That follow where the caravans dare go. With obscene rites to claim what death Iras won. The desert asks no grace aaac! ©S’er® aozto. Indifferent to withhold or to> bestow.

A yellow that, has no ebb rot flow, Where only light is ended or begun. No one baa ever heard the desert speak. The ocean ban &. voice and the winds seek To win some answer to the word they bring. The hungry jackal on his lonely way Beholds the desert prostrate, worshipping, Bub never yet has heard the deaeri pray. •-Louiso DrLooIL