Selected Verse.

Waikato Times, Volume 107, Issue 17964, 8 March 1930, Page 1 (Supplement)

Selected Verse.

SORROW. More than all beneath the sun Sorrow seeks oblivion. Guttering candles at the head— Play the hymn, this grief is dead. Sorrow that was born in pain Has the right to sleep again. More than you, and more than I, Sorrow has the right to die. —Helen Maring, SONNET AFTER THE WAR. Never another dreamlessness like this Will mock our hollow’ entrails, pressing harder Than ail the febrle agonies of bliss, Robbing despair of its palliative ardour. Never again can passion run so. cold And still with unfulfilment; nor the hope Of youth cjrop through the dark to where the old And bitter and benign have ceased to grope. O let us get down and hug the aching ground, And kiss the burdened faces of the rocks, Forgetting the day we judged the earth bereft And strove to make the new the orthodox, Seeking the mouldy truths that they had found, Finding the stagnant lies that they had left, —Clifton Guthbert. DREAM ENCOUNTERS. The measureless houses of dreams, And the magic of hours within hours; And those who pass by like clear streams, Pass by us, on a journey not ours I The eyes that we know’ and we fear, As w-ater of Castaly clear, That gaze that should once have been sweet, Now a terror to meet! Yet, both in one corridor narrowly led, Those steps in another intensity tread; There is space that convenes us, but holds us apart; Sunlight and sunlight, distinctly combined, As a wish with the wind And all heaven with one heart."

THE THAW. Last night the stormy wind smote all the doors Of darkness and the void, and wild and clear Th torrents drenched across these wintry shores Flooding the snow that wiiitened on the year. There was the hammered sound of brittle Ice Unlocked crystal gates, as flood on flood The sky outpoured, ■ and all the silver mice Of frost crept down to darkened solitude. Now’ with this morning, comes the sun, and white That was on all the earth is seen as small And scattered islands in the liquid light. While moving objects are not men at all; Nor beasts, but argosies, time-wandering, Sailing through Winter toward the isles of Spring —Howard McKinley Corning.

THE FLOWER OF OLD JAPAN. Carol, every violet has Heaven for a looking glass. Every little valley lies 'Under many-clouded skies; Every little cottage stands Girt about with boundless lands. Every little glimmering pond Claims the mighty shores beyond— Shores no seaman ever hailed, Seas no ship has ever sailed. All the shores when day Is done Fade into the setting sun, So the story tries to teach More than can be told in speech. Beauty is a fading flower, Truth is but a wizard’s tower, Where a solemn death-bell tolls, And a forest round it rolls. We have come by curious ways To the light that holds the days; We have soug'ht in haunts of fear For that all-enfolding sphere; And lo! it was not far, but near. We have found, 0 foolish fond, The shore that has no shore beyond Deep in every heart it lies With its untranscended skies; For what heaven should bend above Hearts that own the heaven of love? Carol, carol, we have come Back to heaven, back to home. —Alfred Noyes. “ WHICH IS OUR HOME?” The things on earth are shadow forms Of something for above No beauty here is rare enough, No love quite worth our love. And we were meant for rhapsody, For joys pursued by joys, For suns thal carry symphonies, And stars should be our toys. Oh, of the real and perfect things Such memory is mine That I forget the world I see, Remembering the divine. Our perfectness we ask again And not the shadow's given. Oh, write the gods and tell the gods That Heaven must stay with Heaven! —Jane Arms. ORNAMENTATIONS. •‘The curving cranes with serpent necks Knotted on these enamelled streams, The gloaling mouths thrust out to vex The red-eyed war-gods’ frenzy dreams; The inscrutable and dog-like grain Of dcmi-lions lock mo ini , “With countless crafty manacles Dead men’s dexterity strives to bind, Like some machine that all but feels The amazed and apathising mind. Cornices, crannies, shape in shape, But glittering eyes, defy escape. “Heavy hangs this haughty air. Drum,' knell and drone commingling slow; Claw-tendrils reach, man-monsters glare, The victim heart prepares to know Art’s terror, dragon genius—till Thought spies one rose or daffodil.’’