SONGS OF CHILDHOOD

Ladies' Mirror, Volume 3, Issue 9, 2 March 1925, Page 10

SONGS OF CHILDHOOD

<3 y MOLLY HOWDEN

HAVEN’T YOU HEARD

MISS HOWDEN IS ONE OF NEW ZEALAND’S MOST GIFTED POETS AND THESE VERSES DESERVE A WIDER APPRECIATION

TTAVEN'T you heard he rustling sway Of a field of golden corn, Which comes as the darkness steals away To make room for a streak of pearly grey Which heralds the break of dawn; And the skylark soars to sing once more Of the glorious day just born? Haven't you heard ?

Haven't you heard on a balmy day The echo of distant song, As a boat load of children wends its way Down a rippling river towards the bay— A-fishing the whole day long— With the steady beat of the dippingoars, Or the engine throbbing strong? Haven't you heard?

Haven't you heard when the sun's gone west The beat of many a wing, As homeward each birdie flies to its nest 'Neath a Heaven in golden splendour dressed, While the clouds to the mountains cling— And the chatter they make in their homes so high, And the twittering notes they sing ? Haven't you heard?

Haven't you heard the silver bells That the aspens ring at night, When out from the green and flowery dells And out from the leaves with their myriad cells Come the fairies, dressed in white, To play with the pixies and gnomes and elves In the pale moon's silvery light? Surely you've heard!

"PATRICIA" "DUBBLING joy And nothing more Just on four ! See how every silv'ry word Makes this weary world absurd! Not as other children she— Our Patricia, Over three! Merry laughter Lights her eyes. . . Twinkle there The sunny skies And the raindrops are but few In those orbs of heav'nly blue. . . Ever happy—full of glee— Is Patricia, Over three! Golden ringlets Softly curl To her shoulders. . . White as pearl. How her dear arms, tired of play, "Love" us at the close of clay! Never child so sweet as she— Our Patricia, Over three! WHAT shall I write? " We live our lives so far apart That, though I think of you, dear heart, There seems not much that I can say To interest youso far away. What shall you write? Oh!—just the little, trivial things That make your life; of her who brings

A NEW JUDGE

PARTED

Your tea to you, and cleans your shoes, And lights the fire, and scrapes the flues, And dusts your room and keeps it bright; And welcomes you to "home" each night Of these, dear heart, I'd have you write. And many more

Of whom you visit day by day; Of what you do, and what you say; And what, beneath that crown of gold, : a w,v You think; and whether you have sold The bookcase fas you said you _ might) With volumes bound in blue and white Of these, dear, heart, I'd have you write.

BILLION, JOHN AND ME nPHE sun was sparkling bright and clear And the waves were tumbling free, When, laughing, down to the water's edge Came Billikin, John and me. Our suits were —and oh! so clean! With pockets—one, two, three! While shining mops of well-brushed curls Crowned Billikin, John and me. We rushed to the rippling water's edge And jumped o'er the waves in glee; We searched for crabs in deep green pools, And dug little holes for the sea; And tried to catch the great white . birds That swooped to find their tea, But none of them waited long enough For Billikin, John and me. Fu'l of shells are our tunics soiled. As home we go from the sea, And tousled are the golden locks Of Billikin, John and me. Nay! More than these! Do you remember how we told Our hopes and fears in days of old? Our sorrows and our woes laid bare That each the other's pain might share ? (Ah, how you wept because my kite Had shattered in its fall one night!) Of themes like these I'd have you write!