Poetry.

Western Star, Issue 1548, 28 March 1891, Page 1 (Supplement)

Poetry.

IDLE WORDS. Why quarrel ? Life is all too short, alas ! To break e’en half a strand of friendship’s chain; The golden links of friendship or of love, When snapped, are scarcely clasped in life again. Why hurt a heart, by words whose power is stinging, Words idly spoken, but beyond recall; Whose monotone will still be sadly ringing Within the caverns deep of memory’s hall. The summer zephyr softly woos the roses In dalliance sweet, drinking their odourous breath: But angry breezes ruffle their pure beauty, Casting them cruelly to early death. So does the human soul in sensitive sorrow, Faint ’neath the sting of words from lips we love; Words which pursue us morrow after morrow, For which no healing balm falls from above. Pause, then, ere uttering such in thoughtless moments, Pause ore they fall unheeded from the tongue ; The road we tread is not o’er fall of roses, Thorny its pathways are. Life is not long I Theresa Citklette. Up to the gate of the closing year Creepoth the monarch, grey and old ; Out on the instant, with hearty cheer, Cometh the monarch, young and bold, And the bells from a thousand steeples ring, ‘ The king is dead, long live the king ! H. H. Weld.