VERSE OLD AND NEW

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXVI, Issue 22, 2 June 1906, Page 16

VERSE OLD AND NEW

Try Again. Ob. the disappointed hnrt of manuscript's refusal. S* nt by aspirant al! alert For Editor’s perusal! What seemed the writer very fair H i- .hanged its form in toto. The blemishes are now laid bare As faults upon a photo. A’l "hen the lines can find no place Within that publication. Th * Editor with courteous grace Asserts a kina negation. Then the writer still undaunted Takes to fje pen once more. And lo! writes now just what is wanted, Sonic thought ne'er scribed before. *Tis needless now to trace the same, The entering wedge is set: A ' obstacles on way to fame O’erconie as soon as met. o a o a o Equality. Come, give me your hand, sir, my friend and my brother. It honest, why. sure, that's enough! On- hand, if it's true, os as good as anot her. no matter how brawny or rough. Though it toil for a living at hedges or ditches Or make for its owner a name Or fold in its grasp all the dainties of riches— If honest, I love it the same. Nut less in the sight of his Heavenly Is he who must toil fnr his bread: N< t more in the sight of the mute underIs majesty shrouded and dead. !.• - nor.*. of us jeeringly scoff at his neigh* Im pr ’’r uh . k at his lowly birth. c .ire all of us God's. Let us earnestlv labour To better this suffering earth. O ’3 O S $ Three Kisses. A violet kissed my love to-day, And then turned white: And some one passing by exclaimed, “How strange!” Last night I saw this flower and it was blue!” I’ear Heart, within the eyes of you The blue is flashing bright. A red rose kissed my love to-day, Then fell apart: And Cupid, coming afterward, Fcund there his dart. Atd on your cheeks I saw confessed The crims*,n drops the rose had pressed F rum out its bleeding heart. I kissed my love myself, to-dav. And found a tear. kiss her lips in case Thieves should appear. But wh.re the wind some time had played, I raised the curls, and undismayed I hid the kiss my dear. oo o o Poems for the Pushful. [lt is said that lyrical advertisements will soon be even more popular than they arc now. The bard, anxious to be up-to-date. has turned out a few specimen efforts. ] IL w sweet it is tn view, ah me! Tw » »n»*n so subtly linked together. From strife so beautifully free As Messrs Moggs and Mcreweatber. Two -.mis with but a single aim! ■ ■ ■ re: Z« : !<! you misht conjure with the name Vf Moggjs and Mereweather, hatters. Oft-’i has Edward disagreed Mith Angelina. I've heard tell, I ! <>n the subject of his weed: She says. “She doesn't like the smelt’* II- earns the Ide— ings «»f his bride. Hi- p- e no ->rt of wrangle mars "!’••• nil. other brands aside. And smokes “Ushouidtria” cigars. Boot-! Boots’ Boots! Boots! Buy » !>• fr*»ni De Jones and Co. Ib-.t-! It.-ots! Boots! Boots! Every - ,rt »>f *tize in stock. Bout-! Boots! Boots! <iiv ‘ cur firm a trial once. And y- re’ll eome here evermore. If ■ e got co ns our fit m allon s for Vm. I.ibc..il dte-uunt granted you fur ready cash, Boot.-! Boots! Boots! Boots! Buy >m from 1»e Jones and Co.. Yon a*k me where k Fancy bread. What “h-p most deftly bakes ir. Where customers on cake arc fed. The same as mother makes it. G< seek that Heaven of your dreams At Gorgbury, Plgglethwalte aid Creme’s.

Long Ago. I once knew ail the birds that came And nestled in our orchard trees; For every flower I had a name— My friends were woodchucks, toads, and bees: I knew where thrived in yonder glen What plants would soothe a stone-bruis-ed toe — Oh. I was very learned then— But that was very long ago. I knew the spot upon the hill AV here the checkerberries could be found: I knew the rushes near the mill Where pickerel lay that weighed a pound! I knew the wood — the very tree — Where lived the poaching, saucy crow, And all the woods and crows knew me— But that was very long ago. & And. pining for the joys of youth, I tread the old familiar spot. Only to learn the solemn truth — I have forgotten. am forgot. Yet here's this youngster at my knee Knows all the things I used to know; To think I ouce was as wise as he— But that was very long ago. I know its fully to complain Of whatsoe'er the Fates decree; Yet. were not wishes all in vain. I tell you what my wish should be; I’d wish to be a boy again. Baek with the friends I used to know; For I was. oh! so happy then— But that was very lung ago. O v O O Ct The Brave Tittle Man. BY WILLIAM PAGE CARTER. All torn, but sweet, is the old straw hat. As it hangs on the rack in the hail. There's mud from home on two little shoes Where he played on the hills last fall; There’s dust on the kite, and the little stick horse Stands still as ever he can. Listening, perhaps, in the corner there For the voice of the brave little man. There’s never a Song of bird, nor bloom Of rose that blows in the spring. Nor shout of boy. nor gleam of sun But there's some tears will cling. There’s never a flash of the evening star On the hearthstone's fireside Of winter night but will bring some tears For the brave little man that died. Kind friends they were: we kiss them for nim. And lay them out of sight — The two little shoes, the torn old bat. The little, stick horse and the kite: And down in his pocket a rusty nail, A bit of chalk and string. A broken knife, an alley or two. Oh! rhe birds, the bloom, and rhe spring! And star of God at morning's song. Noon time and twilight tide. One sweet little face, some tears will come For the brave little man that died. » O In Medieval Times. In the thrilling Middle Ages, when the poets earned their wages By their spirited descriptions of the tights in various lands. an ardent love of slaughter went no k>ve of soap and water — And the heroes of those conflicts very rarely washed their hanfts. Even when, hot from a tourney, or a knightly errant journey. Where they’d won undying honours with their lances and their brands (Though their obvious perspirement indicated such requirement* Seldom did the notion strike them that they’d better wash their hands. Likewise, too. the ladies tender, jimp of waist and trimly slender. M ith their tresses tail wise hanging in the most luxuriant bands (While their ki-s»-s were delicious) were a trifle too capricious — If I may so gently phrase it — as to when th.y washed their hands. To the chase they'd ride together, in this steaming summer weather. Wi i.-ii nu modern scheme of starching n - re than partially withstands: But dabs of scented waters made the toilet of those daughters. <»f a period when custom found no fault with unwashed hands. Wh- n a mandolin or lute or other instrument a suitor Of the troubadour persuasion poured his soul out through the strands. Though he d * itely fingered, still about his fingers lingered Much too’ obvious suggestion that he had nut washed his hands. Ami the dame at her tambouring, object of this tronbadourine, Languishing to test her lover by the most severe commands— Though her jewelled digits glistened, while she sighed and blushed and listened. Never dreamed they'd glisten betn r If she'd only wash her hands. Also, when to stately lady—ln a ruse lined alley shady—

Knelt a noble with an offer of bls heart and sword and lands. While he vowed till death be d serve her he'd observe <lf an observer), That she'd rarely — practically, never — washed her hands; And the noble thus a-kneeling, all his frenzied love revealing, With that fervour which no woman ever willingly withstands. In his wild gesticulation could not but draw observation T • what lengths of time had vanished since he’d thought to wash his hands. Gone is Medieval glory, though we cherish still the story Of the deeds of knightly valour which the modern heart expands. Would that with those gallant drubbings had gone also daily tubbings— That those knights aud dainty ladies had seen tit to wash their hands! Truly, in their stately castles, domineering o’er their vassals. Quite Lerbie are the figures which the Middle Age upstauds— But their fame would be completer (as their persons would be neater) Had we only the assurance that they sometimes washed their hands! » O & The New Stenographer. I have a new stenographer — she came to work to-day. She told me that she wrote the latest system. Two hundred words a minute seemed to her, she said, like play. And word for word at that — she never missed ’em! I gave her some dictation — a letter to a man — And this, as I remember it, was how the letter ran: ‘‘Dear Sir: I have your favour, and in reply would state That I accept the offer in yours of recent date. I wish to say, however, that under no condition Can I afford to think of your free lance proposition. I shall begin to-morrow to turn the matter out; The copy will be ready by August 10th, about. Material of this nature should not be rusne d unduly. Thanking you for your favour. I am. yours, very truly.” She took it down in shorthand with apparent ease and grace: She didn’t call me back all in a flurry. Thought I. “At last I have a girl worth keeping 'round the place”; Then said. "Now write it out — you nedn't burry.” The typewriter she tackled — now and then she struck a key. And after thirty minutes this is what she handed me: •‘Deer sir. I have the Feever. and in a Pile i Sit And I except the Offer as you Have reasoned it., I wish to see however That under any condition can I for to Think of a free lunch Preposishun ? I Shall be in tomorrow To., turn the mother out. The cap will be red and Will costt, 10 dols., about. Mateeriul of this nation should not rust N. Dooley, Thinking you have the Fee ver I am Yours very Truely.”