SELECTED VERSE.

Waikato Times, Volume 98, Issue 16152, 29 November 1924, Page 11 (Supplement)

SELECTED VERSE.

SPRING. Spring, spring, spring! Now the birds sing In hedge and tree. Babies in the nest Scantily dressed, Soon will fly free. Spring’s great dower, Leaf, bud and flower. Makes the world bright; Green tender shoot, Pod, vine and fruit, Humans’ delight. Joy, joy, joy! Sweet girl and boy Wand’ring the dale, Moon on the wane, Tell o’er again Love’s new-old tale. —Stella Bartlett, Hamilton. WHERE THE GREY MISTS RIBE. Where the grey mists rise On the moorland brown and bare, And the whir and beat of restless wings Breaks on the quiet air; There, the soul of lonely places To my questioning replies, And we meet in love’s communion, Where the grey mists rise,. I am tired of crowded cities, And the toilsome works of men, With their sordid shifts of commerce And their arts of human ken; But there’s balm for bruised spirits ’Neath the wide and wind-tossed skies, And I seek and find heart-healing Where the grey mists rise. O, wrap me in the cool clean winds , And wash me in the rain, And draw me closer to thy breast, Dear Mother Earth again: I have caught the mystic meaning Of thy secrets old and wise, And I cull new strength and gladness Where the grey mists rise. A SONG TO A SWEET SINGER. Sing, bobolink in the meadows, My love is lying near. And spread, day long, your rainbow of song It may be she will hear. She sang as you sing, O wood-thrush! As you sit in the dusk alone, Your sad, sweet lay to the dying day Hath the peace of God in its tone. Sing, flowers in the measured valley, Your song of the quickened sod. Sing, stars of the night with your far-flung light, Of the infinite valleys of God. Sing, shepherd, in the twilight, Sing, pine by the breezes whirled. In all your airs are longing prayers. From the deep heart of the world. I sing of the faith that liveth In the brave, old heart of man. O ages long it hath filled his song Since the ancient school began! LEISURE. Wliat is this life, if full of care, Wo have no time to stand and stare? No time to stand beneath the boughs And stare as long as sheep and cows. No time to see. when woods we pass, Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass. No time to see, in broad daylight, Streams full of stars, like skies at night. No time to turn at Beauty’s glance, And watch her feet, how they can dance. No time to wait till her mouth can Enrich that snyj(lo her eyes began. A poor life this if, full of care, We have no time to stand and. stare. —W. H. Davies. AN AUGUST MIDNIGHT. A shaded lamp and a waving blind, And the beat of a clock from a distant floor; On this scene enter—winged, horned, and spined— A longlegs, a moth, and a dumbledorc; While ’mid my page there idly stands A sleepy fly that rubs its hands. . . Thus meet we five, in this still place, At this point of time, at this point in space. —My guests parade my new-penned ink, Or bang at the lamp-glass, whirl, and sink. “God’s humblest they!” I muse. Yet why? They know Earth-secrets that know not I. —Thomas Hardy.

MY WIFE AND I. “Wo wandered far upon the hill, My wife and I. The sun had passed its height in heaven, The day was near its cloudless even, The years we bore -were seven times seven. My wife and I. "We trod the pathway hand in hand. My wife and I. We looked upon the shining weather, The golden gorsc, the purple heather, And our two hearts were knit together, My wife and I. “We felt, a sweetness in our frame, My wife and I. Though morn is bright and noon is fair. No hour than Ihis can prove more rare, Nor day to us with this compare, My wi(f; and 1.”

“YOU SMILED, YOU SPOKE.” You smiled, you spoke, and I believed, J3y every word and smile deceh od. Another man would hope no more; Xor hope I what I hoped before ; Rut lot not this last wish be vain: Deceive, deceive me once again. -—Walter Savage Landor.—: