SELECTED VERSE.

Waikato Times, Volume 94, Issue 14601, 26 February 1921, Page 9 (Supplement)

SELECTED VERSE.

THE LABT MILEBTONE. Another milestone marks the way; Sombre and stern its height uprears, It chills us with the shadowed gray Of fleeting time and vanished years. So short a time ago—ln June — With dancing steps we gaily went; Now mellow lights of afternoon Give warning that the day is spentAh, when we parted, young and true, How high we dreamed of conquests wonl Alas! how much we planned to do Our feeble hands have left undone! How many broken visions trail Their fitful splendour o'er the skies; How many heights we thought to scale Life's mists have hidden from our eyes! How many lovely dreams of sweet Have drifted out of sight and mind; How many hopes our hasting feet Have left forgotten far behind 1 Ah me! the milestones thronging fast About us, on our shortening way. Imperious date our far-off past, And beckon back to yesterday. Thus, while the sun sets, flaming strange Wild beauty o'er the darkening night, Thrills through us that great thought of Change Should the last milestone be in sight. —Mary M. Curchod. BEREAVED. I miss thee from the old familiar ways, Grown sad and strange without thy presence dear, Where I must needs "go softly all my days" Because thou art not here.

O silence that thy dear voice may not break! O paths thy feet may never tread again! O memories that only sleep to wake A deeper note of pain!

And yet, because thou'dst have me brave and strong, I will not dim thine armour with my tears. Thine ear may catch the echo of my song, But, ah, the lonely .years I —M. Hedderwick Browne.

THE PIONEERS. Along life's stream full many sail Who have no thought but of their ease; They float with wind and tide, their trail A foam-line scattered by the breeze. But there are some who would explore And know the beauties of the land, Who run their little crafts ashore. And struggle forward through the sand. With fearless heart and eager eye They strive a wider world to gain. What if perhaps their names may die? The imprints of their feet remain. —Margaret Baker. THE QUEST. We went across the hills at dawm At night we passed the seas; Through clouds and mists we travelled on Beyond the battling breeze. We stayed not foot by land or shore; We spanned great floods; we chased The flaming sun that glimmered o'er The desert's golden waste. A thing of loveliness and light, Fair, fleeting, lured us on; It lurked within the sea at night, It haunted us at dawn. It trembled on the mountain's peak, It sang across the wood; Though still through misty years we seek, Tha charm doth still elude. Yet here and there In that long quest, A magic moment brings A subtle sense of something West, A breathless beat of wings;

And, seeking still, we wander on If so perchance there be That vision in the melting dawn, That light upon the sea. —Mary M. Curchod. A SHEAF OF MEMORIES. I had a golden sheaf of memories, Harvested in the year of love's delight: I clasped it close on many a shadowed night, A fragrant pillow for my sleepless case. I buried it at last deep in soft mould. When Time's rude plough furrowed the. world for me ; Now I may chant my Henedicite. Such golden grain immortal seed must hold.

The scent of summer dawns, strange ecstasies Of youth's vague hopes gather about me >et. Waking from sleep, sometimes my eyes are wet; In dreams I hold my sheaf of memories ! —C- Farmar. A SUMMER GARDEN. I know a dell where roses dwell, And sunbeams kiss the trees; Where gently sways the lily-bell, Wooed by the tender breeze; Where stately pine-trees whisper low To silver birehes fair, And soft yet clear the skylark's song Thrills through the fragrant air. There columbine and eglantine And sweet carnations grow, And near the idly trailing vine Tile passion-(lowers aglow; There wanton shadows madly dance Upon the velvet grass, And mock the dial as it marks How swift the bright hours pass.

At eventide the fairies glide Where silver moonbeams stray, While tired blossoms meekly hide Their eyes till break of day: The. magic Of the night-wind's siph Sweeps through the dusky grove And joyously the nightingale Sings to his gentle love. —Nora G. Usher