SELECTED VERSE.

Waikato Times, Volume 100, Issue 16780, 24 April 1926, Page 13 (Supplement)

SELECTED VERSE.

AUSTRALIA TO HER DEAD. ANZAC DAY, 1925. Ye live on in achievement, the dead who never die—• As stars dead countless aeons illumine still the sky— Live on—when peace enfeebles, corroding to the core— To light the path of duty; live on—in stress of war — To nerve my shattered squadrons and weld my riven ranks, And 'whelm the foe like Barwon — when Barwon leaps its banks!

The clarion call of country ye heeded as ye hoard. Up Die stern steeps of honour, unflinchingly ye spurred— Keyed up lo high endeavour, ye mocked at death and pain, That lips of earth's wee people might learn to smile again— Fitly in far Valhaila your brows are crowned with bay, And every tiny toddler lisps you its ■ love this day!

Yc won in pain and peril of battle siege and raid The golden spurs of knighthood in this, the last, Crusade. By Derwent, Swan, and Gwydir, my brood, ye ne'er may lie— Whose graves arc Empire landmarks beneath an alien sky— •■ They sleep not far from England who slumber by the sea I pray you a mother's blessing wherever ye may be I —H. B. Bignold. TO A DYING MAN. Your face is like a chamber where a king Dies of his wounds, untended, and alone, Stifling with courteous gesture the crude moan That speaks too loud of mortal perishing, Bising on elbow in the dark to sing Some rhyme now out of season but well known In days when banners in his face were blown And every woman had a rose to fling.

I know that through your eyes which look on me Who stand regarding you with pitiful breath, You sec beyond the moment’s pause, . you sec The sunny sky, the skimming bird beneath, And, fronting on your windows hopelessly, Black in the noon, the broad estates of Death. Edna M. Vincent Milloy. IiVIPASSE. (A dialogue. They have come out to walk on the terrace between dances.) “Oh, the blue sky!” The sky is gray, my dear.” “Gray? Well—What’s that! i heard a nightingale!” “You heal’d a thrush.” “A thrush? Oh, no! Oh, no! Oh, never thrush might sing the song I heard." “You heard a thrush.” “I heard a nightingale 1 The sky is blue! And lam plucking stars! I am not walking on the earth with you.” “You arc quite droll. There's not a star in sigiit. But let that pass. llow did you like tlie ploy?" “The play? Last night? I loved it! That proud boy, Trying his wings. I cried a little bit. I understand, so well." “Yes, you would cry. Of course, you know it was a stupid the play?" The boy, impossible. The critics said “Oh, please don’t spoil it for me! I don’t care What the poor critics said. I pity them. They watch the play for dollars, not for dreams. Was the plot bad? I liked it. liked it all. It was so true. He tried so valicnLly To break his little bonds, and get away. lie did, at last!" “The thing was commonplace. Made no appeal to keen intelligence. This poetry and beauty stuff is old.” “ Old trees are lovely, and old stars, old friends. But sometimes we forget them, and grow blind. Oh, well! Diane i sardatiton Oh, well! Diane is radiant to-night.” “Diane! My word, I call her spirits gauche. But I like quiet women. Hear her laugh 1” “I hear her. And I heard a nightingale ! And the wide sky is blue! Shall we go in? The music is beginning. Oh, a waltz!” “Another waltz! These mid-Victorians! And you, rnv dear, you never will grow up.” “No, never 1 and you never were a child!” LIFE. God set the life of nations In spirits such as these, Who know the lure of red roads And I lie wide waste of seas. Do, there arc .some would barter The quiet peace of home For the mad race of waters And the swift swirl of foam, For the perils of the deep sea That Ihc soul leaps out to meet, Where the fierce lash of -wind is And Ihe sharp sling of sleet! And some would pass uncaring Through streets of storm and lire Anri wild ways untrodden To the strong soul’s desire- — The dim peak uprisen <m the grey wind-swept range, The green isle uncharted And the far lands and strange! —Nellie A. Evans.