THE POETS’ CORNER

Wanganui Chronicle, Volume LXXXIII, Issue 20110, 31 March 1928, Page 22 (Supplement)

THE POETS’ CORNER

“FANCY.” * (Original). T wandered in a wood one day I Where struggling sunbeams caifio to play. And harebells dim by the brooklet’! brim, Tinkled the time away. I found where grass was green and deep A tiny pixie fast asleep. Where gay winds blow and flowers grow, And timid rabbits peep. He wore a suit of russet brown. All trimmed with softest thistledown. The wild bird’s cry his lullaby, His couch the mossy ground. Then suddenly with whir and drone, The little sprite away had flown, I rubbed my eyes with vaguG surprise, For I was left alone. —From “Ayacanora,” Mar '-n. “AN OLD-FASHIONED GARDE V* (Original). The busy bees drone softly all|da£ long; The air is filled with wondrous peace and calm. No sound is heard but that of sweet birds’ songs; And in the garden nought but what can charm. It is an old-world garden, quaint and rare, Where flowers sweet do such rich fragrance send. Whose delicate scent pervades the silent air, Where azure skies do wealth of beauty lend. In this secluded spot fain would I stay, What matter if the darksome night do fall? For if night comes, so will another day; And there is One who watches over all. —From “Chiquita,” Marton. “TO THE SLABS.” (Original). Oh, brilliant stars that shine so bright, Far in the heavens beyond us, Is that your homo, where silver litfht, and fair clouds seek to find us? I often wonder when the moon peeps out, If you wee sky children are all about? You brighten the world with light and glory, When night is upon us and all’s like a story. Your twinkling beams of silver light, Doth make the world a pretty sight. The Sky King sits on his sparkling throne, Blesses you, praises you, loves you alone. The world has many wonders and wonders so true, But the greatest of wonders are the winders of you. You play like the fairies, so hearty and gay, You shine like King Sol from day to day, Your faces are coloured with such pretty hues, .. While your sky carpets are of the daintiest blues. That is where dewdrops play with rain drops small, And around them stands a silver church hall, That’s were they sing of heavenly sights, And of the earth’s wide wonders—those dearest wee mites. So good-night to the stars that shine o’er hill and plain, “Good-night,” all my dears, “Good-night,” once again. —From “Laughing Lilac,” Taihapfc