Among the Poets

Star (Christchurch), Issue 16662, 18 February 1922, Page 4

Among the Poets

n jr n [ A Bouquet of Verses ]

THE SHADOW PLAY. When overhead the summer moon Is riding full and free. I see strange shadows come a.nd go Beneath the apple tree. The outline of a man and maid Are limned upon the ground. Though neither voice nor footstep breaks The silence reigning■ round. They clasp, they kisa. another ehspe Behind them elyly steala. A play of swords (or moonbeams pale’, The "gleam and gloom reveals; In tierce and parry, feint and lunge. They flicker to and fro, While in the thickly foliaged boughs The gusty zephyrs blow. The lover falls, the maiden swoons. The slayer ewiftly flees. The brandies cease to bend and sway As dies the Vagrant breeze. The moon upon the dewy grass A lacy pattern weaves. The shadow actors flit away And vanish in the leaves. —Minna Irving. THE CATBIRD. -yy — The catbird thinks he owns the place Because he comes along And with an air of jaunty grace Proceeds to sing a song. No thoughti of mortgages has he. Nor taxes that are due; The well, the garden and the tree Are his the summer through. He sometimes scolds us from the shade. Where he delights to sit; He thinks that humans work was made All for his benefit. There’s naught would tempt us to efface His confident delight. The catbird thinks he owns the place— And maybe he is right! —Philander Johnson. LIEUTENANT SHELLBACK, R.N.R. He has learnt the ways of the ships at sea In most of the sorts of ships there be In most of the kinds of deep-sea craft Steam and square-sail and fore-and-aft. A Liverpool crack and a London barque As bluff as a barge and as old as the Ark, A tramp, a tanker, a Yankee schooner, He’s served in all of ’em later or sooner. And there isn’t a build and there isn't a rig, , . . Be it fast or slow or little or big. From Chapman Light to the Bay of Bengal, But Lieutenant Shellback knows ’em all. He has learnt the ways of the seas that roll, . Broad and narrow and deep and shoal. Gulf and channel and bight and strait From the Barrier Beef to the Golden Gate: He has learnt the ways of the winds that blow Off palm and coral and Polar snow. The tvphoon sweeping the China seas. And the Trades and the stormy westerlies And there isn’t a port in the wide world round. From London River to Puget Pound. From Sand Heads Light to Vallipo Bay But Lieutenant Shellback's paeeed that wav. And some he learnt from an old-style skipper That once cracked on 1n a China clipper. And a. blue-nose mate like a live cyclone. All fist and boot and muscle and bone; To reef and furl and hand and steer He knew full well by his seventeenth year*. To lift a cantey and patch and darn. And carve a model and spiu a yarn. And there wasn’t so much those old salts knew. “ Sails ” and bo’eun. skipper and crew. From trimming yards to a fancy knot. But Lieutenant Shellback learnt the lot. But he learnt the most, when all's been told. Where his fathers learnt the same of old. In the sun and storm, in the wind and Twice round the world and home again. He learnt it here and he learnt it there. He learnt it foul and he learnt it fair. Both inside out and upside down. Tween the Tail o’ the Bank and Frisco town. . . . And there isn't a death that sailors dare From Garrick Roads to the Straits of Le Mair. Nor a kind of a risk that seamen run But Lieutenant Shellback's faced each one. That's what has made him tried and true, Hardened and tested and proved him too; Born and bred to the sailor’s trade. Hemp to the core and cable-laid.. Like the nine-strand stuff that a seaman knows Will hold and hold till the last strand goes. And whether he's fighting or sweeping or towing. And whether it's raining or hailing or blowing. Whether lie's out on the U-boat trail Or saving a crew in a North flea gale. There isn't a job that he finds to do But Lieutenant Shellback carries it through. —C.F.S.

A SONG OF WAKING. The maple buds arc red. are rrn, The rabin's call is sweet . The blue sky floats above thy head. The violets kiss thy fret. The sun sheds emeralds on the spray. And sapphires on the lake; A million wings unfold to-day, A million flowers awake. Their starry cups the cowslips lift To catch the golden light. The innocent looks up with eyes That know no deeper shade Than falls from wings of butterflies. Too fair to make, afraid. With long- green raiment blown and wet. The willows, hand in hand. Lean low to teach the rivulet What trees may understand Of murmurous tune and idle dance. With broken rhymes whose flow A poet's ear shall catch, perchance, A soore of miles below. —Katherine Lee Bates. THE GLITTERING DRUDGE.

At school she wore old clothes Given her by the neighbours AVho meant well without doubt. She always had a draggled, down-al-the heel look. And hurried through with her studies To get home to look after Innumerable little brothers and sisters, For her mother was forever ailing And her father usually drinking And always vicious. I flo not think her body was very strong, For her great eyes always looked weary. At any rate, elie died quietly one day And the neighbours chipped in and hotight her a casket dress. It was the only new thing she had ever worn. I'll warrant. And it. was not beautiful. Being selected for neatness. And because it was cheap, having been marked down for a sale. And so she was buried—never having onco complained At not having pretty things " like other girls." And now i think of happy chattering girl angels Snipping and fitting. Busy about her. Lengths of sun-lace cloth. Scarves of moon glamour. And gorgeous draperies of flaming cloud Her great, eyes sparkle like the start Enmeshed in misty hair. Her poor tired heart catches the lilting laughter Of the maids As she surveys herself in Heaven's mirage Made beautiful nt last. A glittering drudge. Maybe r only think of her thus Because it makes me more comforlal'f. —Mary Carmack M Donga 1.