VERSE OLD AND NEW

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXVIII, Issue 21, 25 May 1907, Page 27

VERSE OLD AND NEW

Heartless ’“Have you no heart?” I cried. Her eyes met mine. Then slowly, mournfully, she shook her head. And with that silent, unmistaking sign, I realised that all my hopes lay dead. Gone were niy dearest dreams, and black despair Plunged ev’ry prospect into deepest shade; pone, too, life’s golden .itlook, free from Fled at the bidding of a heartless maid. For now what recked it if my suit I pressed? Would not the issue ever be the same? Yet, had my partner only but possessed One little heart, we might have saved the game. © © © Oiunes in Arcadia. Many a man rides up and down Plausible roads that lead nowhere, But everybody gets once to town, And flings his heels in Vanity Fair. Many' a spinster alone at tea Scoffs at the bachelors darning their hose, But every one of the minds that she Once walked late in a garden close. —By Sarah N. Cleghorn. © © © The Kitchen Table. Sence livin’ in th’ city, I been a-feedin’ some At them there uppish rest’rants, thit’s crackin' swell, by gum! There’s finger bowls — dad-gast ’em!— an’ waiters on the jump. At fust I cottoned t’ it, like any other chump; But now I’ve got a longin’ f’r good old homelike ways. An’ mcm’iy keeps returnin’ t’ them there early days W’en on th’ kitchen table, its red cloth glowin’ bright, Malindy set th’ dinner—at noontime—not at night. They wa’n’t no pesky waiters a-workin’ f’r a tip— Malindy done th’ waitin’ an’ et between each trip; Th’ knives an’ forks was iron, th’ dishes wasn’t much, tWe had a pewter castor, an’ napkin rings, an" such; Tli’ stove was piled with kettles, a skillet an’ a pot, A-soakin’ f’r th’ washin’, in water, b’ilin’ hot; They wa’n’t no silver platters; they wa’n’t no birds an’ wine Served on th’t kitchen table —but, gosh! them meals was fine. SVe lit th’ lamp at supper—l smell th’ durned thing yet! Malindy hollered “Ready!” an’ everybody set. Th’ apple sass an’ jelly an’ swellin’ homomade bread Was all a blame sight better than what town folk is fed. You folks can have yer candles an* courses bv the score, I want th’t kitchen table, heaped full o’ things once more; This fussy, stylish dinin' is plum ag’in my creed— Oh, gimme th’ old table an’ let me set an’ feed! —“ Puck.” © © © Ahem! The seamstress leads a life of simple duty. And from her honest toil comes honest cheer; * ',Whil« others thread the paths of - o tv. i Idfe seeing just eew-sow in her hem-iny-sphere.

An Old Spinet. I love it. Why, you fail to understand; Your brow you wrinkle; So thin against a strident modern “ grand ” Its tiny tinkle. I grant you that. But then my old spinet (Date, seventeen-twenty) Has, since the past for me is living yet. Beauties a-plenty. I love to think of twilights long ago: Was tapers glimmer, And, round my spinet, maids with eyes aglow And gowns a-shimmer. The songs they sang! Lilt, catch, and madrigal, Gracious and flowing; Such as the faded songbooks give us—one and all Worthy the knowing. I dream that Prudence touched the small white keys With hands still whiter, Whilst Dorothy or Susan sang to please Some valiant fighter. Or it may be that Lydia, sad at heart, Loving and slighted, Played out her sorrow wistful and apart, And dreamed it righted. Fantasies all! Yet I have found them fair. These, dreamings golden; And for their sakes I prize with tender care My spinet olden. —F. IV. Saundersou. © © © My Gentleman. I own a dog who is a gentleman. By birth most surely, since the creature can Boast of a pedigree the like of which Holds not a Howard or a Metternich. By breeding. Since the walks of life he trod, He never wagged an unkind tail abroad. He never snubbed a nameless cur because Without a friend or credit card he was. By pride. He looks you squarely in the face Unshrinking and without a single trace Of either diffidence or arrogant Assertion such as upstarts often flaunt. By tenderness. The littlest girl may tear With absolute impunity his hair. And pinch his silken, flowing cars the while He smiles upon her—yes, I’ve seen him smile. By loyally. No truer friend than he Has come to prove his friendship’s worth to me. ITo does not fear the master—knows no fear— But loves the man who is his master here. By countenance. If there be nobler eyes, More full of honour or of honesties. In finer head, on broader shoulders found — Then have I never met the man or hound. Here is the motto on my lifeboat’s log: “God grant I may be worthy of my dog!” —New Orleans Times-Demoerat. © © © Smile ’Em Down. Of troubles every one alive Must have his little pile. But try to keep the lid on them. The l‘d, friend, is a smile. © a © A Parting Shot. ’Tis often said that money talks To this I must agree; .For 1 all that ever camo my way Soon said “ Good by# ” to tu«>