SELECTED VERSE.

Waikato Times, Volume 94, Issue 14764, 1 October 1921, Page 9 (Supplement)

SELECTED VERSE.

MY BOOKS Sadly as some old mediaeval knight Gazed at the arms lie could no longer wield, The sword two-handed and the shining shield Suspended in the hall, and full in sight, While secret longings for the lost delight ' Of tourney, or adventure in the Held, Came over him; and tears but half concealed Trembled and fell upon his beard of white; So I behold these books upon their shelf;. My ornaments and arms of other days. Not wholly useless, though no longer used; For they remind me of my other self, Younger and stronger, a'nd the pleasant ways In which I walked, now clouded and confused. —H. W. Longfellow. THE TREE. I love thee when thy swelling buds appear, And, one by one, their tender leaves unfold, As if they knew that warmer suns were near, Nor longer sought to hide from winter cold; And when with darker growth thy leaves are seen To veil from view the early robin's nest, I love lo lie beneath thy waving screen With limbs by summer's heat and toil oppressed; And when the autumn winds have stripped thee bare, And round thee lies the smooth, untrodden snow; When naught is thine that made thee once so fair, I love to watch the shadowy form below. And through thy leafless arms to look above On stars that brighter beam when most we need their love. —Jones Very. TO DAFFODILS. Fair daffodils, we weep to see You haste away so soon. As yet the early-rising sun Has not attained his noonStay—stay Until the hasting day Has run But to the even-song; And, having prayed together, we Will go with you along. We-have short time to stay, as.you; We have as short a spring; As quick a growth to meet decay As you or anything; We die, As your hours do, and dry Away Like to the summer's rain, Or as the- pearls of morning dew— Ne'er to be found again. —R. Herrick. NOMAD. "Let me delay a moment and look out Into the morning; let me feel the slow Dropping of chains, the walls that are about To give me back my freedom! Some will go Hurriedly, being flushed, as bondsmen are, With wine of new horizons —but not I! No need to seek the sea, or travel far To sip the tempered sweetness of the sky. "There is a pleasure that we nomads take In standing long at doors that mark the brink Of unforecasted journeys; and we break Chains with a shy reluctant, link by link. Perhaps because of this we love the spires Qf little towns at twilight, and inn fires." —Leslie Nelson Jennings,. In the New Republic. ROSES. Roses, that briefly live, Joy is your dower. Blest be the fates that give One perfect hour. And, though too soon you die, In your dust glows Something- the passer-by Knows was a Rose —L. C. Moulton. SEA mUSIC. Now lay thine ear against this golden sand, And thou shall hear the music of the sea, —■ Those hollow tunes it plays against the land. Is't not a rich and wondrous melody? I have lain hours, and fancied in its tone I heard the languages of ages gone. —Thomas Hood.' SPRING. Spring, the. sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king: Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring, C''.ld dolh not sting, the pretty birds do sing. Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo' 1 The palm and may make country Houses gay, Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pine all day, And we hear aye birds tune this merrylay, Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-wee, to-willa-woo. The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet, Young lovers meet, old wives a-sunning sit, In every street these tunes our ears do greet, Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-wee, to-witta-woo! Sprint'! the sweet Spring! —T. Nash. TO THE MOOf*. Art thou pale, for weariness Of climbing heaven, and gazing on the earth, Wandering companionlcss Among the stars that have a different " birth And ever-changing, like a joyless eye That finds no object worth its constancy? —P. 3. Shelley.