SELECTED VERSE.

Waikato Times, Volume 96, Issue 15359, 6 October 1923, Page 11 (Supplement)

SELECTED VERSE.

THE EVENING CLOUD. A Cloud lay cradled near the setting sun, A gleam of crimson tinged its braided snow; Long had I watched the glory moving on O’er the still radiance of the lake below. Tranquil its spirit seem’d, and floated slow I Even in its very motion there was rest: While every breath of eve that chanced to blow Wafted the traveller to the beauteous West. Emblem, methought, of the departed soul I To whose white robe the gleam of bliss is given; And by the breath of mercy made to roll Right onwards to the golden gates of Heaven, Where, to the eye of faith it peaceful lies, And tells to man his glorious destinies. —John Wilson

A ROSE-BUD BY MY EARLY WALK.

A rose-bud by my early walk, Adown a corn-enclosing hawk, Sae gently bent its thorny stalk, All on a dewy morning.

Ere twice the shades o’ dawn are fled, In a’ its crimson glory spread, And drooping rich the dewy head, It scents the early morning.

Within the bush, her covert nest A little linnet fondly prest, The dew sat chilly on her breast Sae early In the morning.

She soon shall see her tender brood, The pride, the pleasure o’ the wood, Amang the fresh green leaves bedew’d Awake the early morning.

So thou, dear bird, young Jeany fair, On trembling string or vocal air, Shall sweetly pay the tender care That tents thy early morning.

So thou, sweet rose-bud, young and gay, Shalt beauteous blaze upon the day, And bless the parent’s evening ray That watch’d thy early morning. ,—Robert Burns.

THE WIND. Bring from craggy haunts of birch and pine, Thou wild wind, bring Keen forest odours from that realm of thine Upon they wing! O wind O mighty, melancholy wind, Blow through me. blow I Thou blowest forgotten things into my mind From long ago. —John Todhunter.

HOW BEAUTIFUL IS NIGHT. How beautiful is night! A dewy freshness fills the silent air; No mist obscures, nor cloud, nor speck, nor stain. Breaks the serene of heaven; In full-orbed glory yonder moon di-

vine Rolls through the dark blue depths, Beneath her steady ray The desert circle spreads, Like the round ocean, girded with the sky. How beautiful is night 1 —Robert Southey.

LET ME LOVE BRIGHT THINGS. Let me love bright things Before my life is over . . s Moons and shining wings Of bees about the clover. Bathers in seas; Cities hy night, Tall rainy trees; Yellow candle light. And long sunlit lands That lie everywhere; And one with white hands To comb her gleaming hair. —A. Newberry Choyce.

VAGABOND’S JOY. There’s sunshine in the heart of me, My blood sings in tlie breeze; The mountains are a part of me, I’m fellow to the trees. My golden youth I’m squandering, Sun-libertine am I; A-wandering, a-wandcring, Until the day I die. ■—Robert \V. Service.

THE SETTING SUN. The stainless snow and the blue, Lit by a pure gold star, Nearly meet; but a bar Of fire separates the two. A rime-frosted, black pinewood, ' Raising, as waves roll foam, Its lances toothed like a comb, Dams the horizon’s blood. In the tomb of blue and while Nothing stirs save a crow. Unfolding splemnly slow Its silky wing black as night. .—Victor Kinon

THE YEAR’S AT THE SPRING. The year’s at the Spring, And the day’s at the morn; Morning’s at seven; The hill-side’s dew-pearl’d; The lark’s on the wing; The snail’s on the thorn; God’s in his heaven— All’s right with the world! ,—Robert Browning.

FISHING. Leaving no stream unhaunted, Leaving no pool unfished, Using the flics I wanted, I have cast where I wished, I have communed with Nature In her serencst mood, Learning her nomenclature, Only half understood. Glades I have viewed sun dappled, Mystic beneatli the moon, Orchards to be full appled Gardens gay in the noon. Richer than gold my faring, Where was no gold lo see Save what tlie sun cast, sparing Never a burl nor tree. What should I then lake, thought for, Now that my lime is mil? Have I not all 1 sought for? Yes, everything—but trout! ■ -... Morris.