SELECTED VERSE

Waikato Times, Volume 126, Issue 21041, 17 February 1940, Page 11 (Supplement)

SELECTED VERSE

“ TO SOME GERMANS ”

In that Humanity which makes us brother, In Art's annihilation of the night, Our lights have shone upon and blessed each other. Our very souls have given each other light. This is no idle boast or empty story; One of the glories of the English race Is. that we recognised Beethoven’s glory. And at his dying moment won his grace; . . . And. of our Poet, we have heard you say “We call him ‘Unser Shakespeare’; he is ours; We share him with you as we share the day, The night, the seasons and the happy hours.” . . . Upon another morrow, if we strive, Our links of Life, now broken, may unite, Not each for each but both for all alive Opening the other shutters for more light. John Masefield, Poet Laureate of England

PERSECUTION

How can I write poetry when the cat with affectionate paws on my long-suffering breastbone rumbles and washes my chin, and the little kitten climbs up the back of my woollen shirt to my shoulder, sings in my ear, sneezes, and pulls my fetlock, pats my cheek with a delicate paw, and plunges to attack the faltering pencil, and eats the poem? —Frances Frost.

BLUE BIRD OF HAPPINESS

When I was very, very young, The Blue Bird used to sing for me; But with the passing of the years, It flew away across the sea. And oft I searched and searched in vain To find my sweetly singing bird; But all was strangely sad and still, Where once the magic tones were heard. I hasted up the Hill of Life; Of Pleasure's foaming cup I quaffed; Ambition ever beckoned on— But Happiness, elusive, laughed. When tired out, I cast me down To shed a hot and bitter tear, Contentment came and dried my eyes, And said “Come home with me, my dear.” Contentment opened wide her door, And said “Come in, and dwell with me.” I entered in, and lo ! I heard My Blue Bird’s song of ecstacy ! —Olive Evelyn Higgs

ISLANDER

Whoever once has known this lonely place Of tufted dunes and troubled amethyst. Drunk its dark charm and felt upon his

face The sting of salt wind and ensnaring mist. Never can leave this slender strip of land, Nor flee its strange and quiet witchery; But must forever have the glint of sand And the familiar thunder of the sea. I am of those that hunger for the swell Of drumming water on a stubborn shore; Away a little while, and I rebel. Yearning for sight of ocean and its roar. I am at home near water and near ships, And happy with an east wind on m.v lips. —Oliver Jenkins