Selected Poetry.

Western Star, Issue 1540, 28 February 1891, Page 2 (Supplement)

Selected Poetry.

my own canoe. The sen is sinking in the West, - And evening closes o er the lea. The golden barley bends his crest. And gently nods “good night ” to me. As I paddle my own' canoe . With steady stroke and true, “ I fear no foe ” Wherever I go, But paddle my own canoe. The moon uprises o’er the hill, And bathes ia mellow light the vale. While from the copse I hear the trill— The wondrous trill of the nightingale. As I paddle my own canoe, And glide through the waters blue, With heart of air I spurn all care. And paddje my own canoe. J. S. C. WOODLAND TEEES. I love them when they’re budding in the springtime of the year; I love them in their leafy green, I love them in the sere— , . Not less when they are leafless in winter dans and drear.

When buds their boughs are wreathing in spring I upward gaze .Till I srem beneath a canopy of silver lines or haze, . All sprinkled o’er with little sprigs that mingle in a maze.

In Bii:nmer to the greenwood on some mossy bank or nook, Where they throw down their cool shadows, I take my work or book, And listen to the “ woodnote wild," or cawing of the rook.

And when the leaves are falling in Autumn air serene, And Robin sings his requiem o’er the bright days that have been, Ah, still I fondly linger by the mournful woodland scene.

Them bare ’gainst sky of Winter, or tossed m the wild breeze, In Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter, I love the woodland trees!