SELECTED VERSE.

Waikato Times, Volume 104, Issue 17586, 15 December 1928, Page 13 (Supplement)

SELECTED VERSE.

"THE LORDLY ONES." How beautiful they are, the lordly i ones - Who dwell in the hills—in the hollow ) hills; i They have faces like flowers and their > breath is a wind, ' That blows over Summer meadows filled with dewy clover. ; Their limbs are more white than shafts of moonshine, ' They are more fleet than the March wind; They laugh and are glad and are terrible When their lances shake and glitter, every green reed quivers. How beautiful they are, how beautiful! The lordly ones in the hollow hills. HOUSE MADE MUSEUM. Men raised these walls for their stern privacy. They who made reticence their constant cloak Hewed these dark beams, drew that long roof-line down To shut the prying world out—and the rain. Life, restless as the tide whose petuvoicc Threaded on its reiterance the days, Filled these low rooms, hollowed the narrow stair, Waited impatient for reluctant Springs To light the lilac's torches by the door Yet still upon the threshold mute reserves Stood warder to prevent intrusion there. And now each day unnumbered alien feet Go up and down across the sagging floors. In these pale chambers hallowed by the rites Of birth and death, those mystic hierophants, Strangers may peer from windows dedicate To; eyes grown dim with watching for slow ships. Only at night, when all this host has gone, Wrapped in the shadows of its guardian elm, Like an old woman huddled in her . ..shawl, The' old house dreams of vanished faces sealed ' Inviolate in the amber of the years, ( And summons from the silence voices ' lost As a worn shell recalls the singing ' sea. ] —Edith Richmond Blanchard. * I; THE GIPSYING. I C

I wish we might go gipsying one day the while we're young On a blue October morning Beneath a cloudless sky, When all the world's a vibrant harp The winds o' God have strung, And gay as tossing torches the maples light us by; The rising sun before us—a golden bubble swung— I wish we might go gipsying one day the while we're young.

I wish we might go gipsying one day before we're old — To step in with the wild west wind And sing the while we go Through far, forgotten orchards Hung with jewels red and gold; Through cool and fragrant forests where never sun may "show. To stand upon a high lull and watch the mist unfold — I wish we might go gipsying one day before we're old.

I wish we might go gipsying, dear lad, the while we care— The while we've heart for hazarding, The. while we've will to slug, The while we've wit lo hear the call And youth and mirth to spare, Before a day may And us too sad for gipsying, Before a day may find us too dull to dream and dare— I wish we might go gipsying, dear lad, the while wc care. —Theodosia Garrison.

"THE THINGS I HAVE." Love that is hoarded, molds at last Until we know some day The only thing we ever have Is what we give away. And kindness that is never used But hidden all alone Will slowly harden till it is As hard as any stone. It is the things we always hold That we will lose some day; The only things we ever kec'p Are what we give away. ARCHANGEL.

Like the rent temple vail The tapestries of the wild heavens fell apart And he stepped forth. In his right hand he held the lightnings of the sky, Like a bright sheaf of grain. He laughed as gods laugh Looking upon the childishness of men. His eyes held the sweet devastating pain of thrice ten thousand loves And all unquenched. He was as beautiful as the night is deep And as the unharnessed power of

angels and of men Surged in his mighty heart And on his lips. The white forefinger of the God of

Hosts Had touched his brow. And he stepped forth. And from a quiet hill I saw him walking down the windy sky Did you not see him? Did you not hear the cry That rose up like the song of a wild

bird Set free from its small cage Unto the night?

Oh, pitiful and blind, You were asleep! Sleep on, then, lake your rest. Another thousand years and he, perchance, Will pass this way again. —Barbara Young.