Verse Old and New

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXIX, Issue 13, 28 September 1907, Page 34

Verse Old and New

Dan Cnpid, Grafter. “Dan,” said Queen Venus, a frown on her face, “What means all this profligate public disgrace ? Many hearts which you mated have taken recourse To the commonplace courts for an earthly divorce.” Dan, disconcerted, tried hard to deny He'd been mixed with these marriages gon? all awry, But, being hard pressed, 'At last he confessed: Rich Croesus had bribed him to tip each bright shaft He shot at poor maidens with covetous graft! Said Venus, unbuckling her cestus of gold, “1 11 have fair revenge for the hearts you have sold! I’ve decided to spank you, That no further prank you Will play on my sisters And promise you blisters Tor being so bold — That not even your grace nor a pair of soft pantalOons ’ll save you from taking your meals from a mantel!” George Wetherill Earl, Jun. © © © Belinda’s Freckles. Let misers count their stores of gold, And silver metal hard and cold; I vex me not with drossy pelf So great it piles up of itself. And gives but a passing chill Instead of some responsive thrill To cheer the soul and warm the heart, And make the dormant pulses start. But, oh, the gold that I can see When my Belinda sits by me Out on the rock-bound coast, in days Made glorious by the summer’s haze, Or by some spray-bespattered nock We turn the pages of a book. With but the blue and sea alone To act for us the chaperon! For on Belinda's brow recline Ten thousand sequins, eighteen fine, And half a million on her cheek I find whenever I do seek: While on her dainty, dimpled chin, And on that hand that I would win, I count my dollars, rows on rows— With what reserve upon her nose! Belinda’s freckles —past all doubt The gold within her coming out— Are all the wealth of which I boast, The Midas stores I care for most; And if for one small, slightest piece Of that vast store you'd seek release. You could not get it. not from me, For all the wealth of Kimberley! John Kendrick Bangs. © © © Henpecked. A half a hundred hens one day— At least the story goes— Talked o'er their rights and wrongs, and then In hot rebellion rose. The rooster had been lord of all— A cruel tyrant he. They sought to take him down a peg Or two, or maybe three. One squawk, then at him did they fly An I picked and scratched like mad. They drove him here and dragged him there. And used him very bad. The wrath,of months fell on his head; The job was very clean. He looked as though he'd filtered through A harvesting machine. And since that day the world has come To this conclusion terse; A henpi eked man looks bad enough, I A henpecked rooster worse.

La Grisette. Ah, Clemence! when I saw thee last Trip down the Rue de Seine, And turning, when thy form .had passed, I said: “We meet again”— I dreamed not in that idle glance Thy latest image came, And only left to memory’s trance A shadow and a name. The few strange words thy lips had taught Thy timid voice to speak, Their gentler signs which often brought Fresh roses to thy cheek, The trailing of thy long, loose hair Bent o’er my couch of pain, All. all returned, more sweet, more fair; Oh, had we met again! I walked where saint and virgin keep The vigil lights of Heaven, I knew that thou hadst woes to weep, And sins to be forgiven; I watched where Genevieve was laid, 1 knelt by Mary’s shrine, Beside me low, soft voices prayed; Alas! but where was thine? And when the morning sun was bright, When wind and wave were calm, And flamed, in thousand-tinted light, The rose of Notre Dame, I wandered through the haunts of men, From Boulevard to Quai, Till, frowning over Saint Etienne, The Pantheon’s shadow lay. In vain, in vain; we meet no more, Nor dream what fates befall; And long upon the stranger’s shore My voice on thee may call, When years have elothed the line in mosa That tells thy name and days, And withered, on thy simple cross, The wreaths of Pere-la-Chaise! —Qliver Wendell Holmes. © © © The Kingdom of Man. 0 what of the outer drear As long as there’s inner light; As long as the sun of eheer Shines ardently bright? As long as the soul’s a-vving, As long as the heart is true, What pow’r hath trouble to bring A sorrow to you? No bar can eneage the soul, Nor capture the spirit free, As long as old Earth shall roll Or hours shall be. Our world is the world within, Our life is the thought we take, And never an outer sin Can mar it or break. Brood not on the rich man's land, Sigh not for the miser’s gold, Holding in reach of your hand The treasures untold That lie in the mines of heart, That rest in the soul alone, Bid worry and care depart; Come into your own! By John Kendrick Bangs. © © © At Twenty. In growing old, as all grow old, I’ve found for life the wisest rule: ’Tis in old age to play the sage; In youth it is to play the fool. Oh. keen blows life when young is life, And I have breathed its freshness in With deep-drawn briath; the scorn of death, • The pang of love, the sweet of sin. Must I turn gray, as all turn gray, PH not have lived in vain, forsooth; Though not in age I play the sage Al least I play the fool in youth. •-‘Charlton' Lawrence Edhelui.