Verse Old and New

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XL, Issue 6, 8 February 1908, Page 35

Verse Old and New

Beyond. The wind of the evening that seems To blow from the westering sun Brings unto me challenging dreams Of worlds that await me unwon— Worlds of crystal and pearl, Worlds of singing and light, That sweep in a starry swirl Through infinite deeps of night. And I, who thought I had come To the end of things, and had seen The whole of life, and the sum Of all that is and has been, Through the gates of the west, Youth once more in my soul, Set out on the starry quest Of life that knows no goal. Of life that surges and sweeps On winds that riot and race Through limitless, deathless deeps Of kindling and quickening space—• Life that is one vast breath Of universal morn, Where mortal night and death t Are day and life reborn. G © © The Bachelor’s Ideal. [The excuse that they have never met the right woman seems still to be popular among bachelors.] Call him not selfish that he does not wed, Compelling one that worships him to share An ever-growing load of sordid care, The ceaseless struggle for his daily bread. He sits alone before his dying fire - Envying others their domestic joys, The love and laughter of their girls and boys, This fe’xile from the land of his desire. Despite what truly selfish lovers say, Enough for one is not enough for two, Or else were all arithmetic untrue Whose laws mankind with one consent obey. It is not that he dreads the simpler life. Shorn of the things that minister to ease; He feels the loss of comforts such as these Would be distinctly hard upon his wife. Only in dreams he sometimes sees his fate, Divinely fair and sweetly womanly, The perfect, the incomparable she Whose love might draw him from his lone estate. She makes the way to matrimony clear, Obedient and patient, slow to vex, Endowed with all the virtues of her sex, ' ' And something like ten thousand pounds a year. til —Touchstone, in the “Daily Mail.” © © © If and Perhaps. If everyone were wise and sweet, And £ very one were jolly; If every heart with gladness beat, And none were melancholy; If pone should grumble or complain, And nobody should labour In ev,il work, but each were fain To love and help his neighbour— Oh,i what a hfippy world ’twould lie For, you and me—for,you and me! And if, perhaps, we both should try That glorious time to hurry; If you and I—just you and I—i Should laugh instead of worry; If we 1 should grow—just you and I—i Kinder and sweeter hearted—(Perhaps in some enar by-and-by ’ That good time might get started. Then what a happy world ’twould be, for you and me —for you and me!

EMMA C. DOWD.

<Ln Antediluvian Ambition. A labyrinthodon once paced the prehistoric strand, And gazed upon the Saurian tribe—that charming, cheerful band; But his heart was very heavy, and a tear was in his eye; And as he sadly gazed around, he murmured with a sigh; “ I’m a most unhappy creature, and it is a burning shame That I can’t do something clever which would win me deathless fame. There’s my friend the ichthyosaurus— he can dive and he can swim! I am quite consumed with envy that I can’t compete with him. “ The graceful pterosaurus in the air can boldly soar; The dimorphodon is flying, too, while I must tramp the shore. The powerful teleosaurus to imperial heights has risen, For he bosses land and ocean while he takes what isn’t his’n! “ When the mighty megalosaurus from the small fry cannot steal; When no more the ceteosaurus takes his vegetarian meal; When my bones lie deeply buried in the prehistoric slime, Let, oh, let me leave behind me footprints on the sands of time! ” *Tis of years some twenty million since he offered up his prayer; Go to-day to the museum —you may see his footprints there! 1 W. J. TOWNSEND COLLINS. ©© © - In Bonds. Love, since this feud has grown ’twixt you and me, ‘ How if T set you free; And loose the clinging hands you coldly press, Mute with a fierce distress That will not suffer pity to be kind. Or break the bonds we once rejoiced to bind ? For, verily, an end must come to all; And, ev’n as blossoms fall From withered stems, when rain and storm are rife, Glory doth fade from life! Yea, love itself, its brief hour being done, Must perish at the setting of the sun. And yet ... and yet .■ . . though hearts so sorely ache, What anguish could unmake The joy we fashioned of our smiles and tears Through unforgotten years, Wherein, for good or ill, our spirits wrought To compass fairer heights of deed and thought? Ah, idle is our talk of “setting free” What love inviolably Hath joined—which bond the end shall ratify, Though all enchantments die; For grief that wounds hath made' her secret plain— The imperishable is purified through pa in. Then let us humbly put all wrath away, That had no power to slay! While autumn tints the woodlands, till their leaves Glow’—as my heart conceives— Not with the fiery presages of death, But with the beauty that is life and breath.