SELECTED VERSE.

Waikato Times, Volume 94, Issue 14584, 5 February 1921, Page 9 (Supplement)

SELECTED VERSE.

DEFEAT. . a.'. Bitter, dark,, and stagnant are the waters of defeat, Heavy with* the force of all our fears, Salted with the brine of burning tears, Rising on us with the weight of years — Defeat I But let the Ego fall in it and drown, Let it sink hardly like a wcighied * stone, Let it break off, and fight, and die alone —• And you shall And another star has shone Upon defeat!

Hold that light softly, 'tis the heart of things. The dark waves from your spirit combed away, Tho' dead of sorrow, you shall live to 6ay You saw the silver moonlight on the spray Above defeat! —Dorothy Easton. TWO LOVERS. Two lovers by a moss-grown spring. They leaned soft cheeks together there; Mingled the dark and sunny hair, And heard the wooing thrushes sing. O budding time. 0 love's blest prime! Two wedded from the portal stept, The hells made happy carolintrs, The air was soft as fanning wings, White pH ;| ls on the pathway slept. O pure-eyed bride! O tender pride!

Two faces o'er a cradle bent, Two hands above the head were locked; These pressed each other while they rocked, These watched a life that love had sent. O solemn hour I O hidden power I Two parents by the evening fire, The red light fell about their knees On heart that rose by slow degrees, Like buds upon the lily spire. O patient life I O lender strife! The two still sat together there. The red light shone about their knees; But all the heads by slow degrees Had gone and left that lonely pair, O voyage fasti O vanished past! The red light shone upon the floor, And 'made the space between them wide; They drew their chairs up side byside, Their pale cheeks joined, and said, "Unce more!" O memories I O past that is I —George Eliot. REST. At last tlie healing touch of eve descends; The day was long, the sun's red splendours smote The grassy pastures; and, in peace transcends The pomp of war, uur lips send forth a note Of grateful praise for that hed-barred WiSt. And the soft twirling of the burntup spray. Athwart the brow of cool breezes, on the breast The healing touch of evening. O'er tlie brae A mist is wrapped. The foxglove's bells, astir, Greet the late bee: the roses throw a spell Of scented sweetness, and from haunts of fir Come resinous perfumes that cling and dwell. Grayncss enwraps the lonely tree that stands Midway in yonder pastures, where, 'tis said, The, fairies tune their pipes at eve. The lands Greet, the deep dew. Far, .winging overhead A rook seeks some plantation in the dene. Until another morn cool rest has spread Her sheltering lent, the shade of the Unseen. —William J. Gallagher.