Verse Old and New

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XL, Issue 10, 7 March 1908, Page 43

Verse Old and New

Remembrance. 0 unforgotten lips, grey haunting eyes, , Soft curving cheeks and heart-remem-bered brow, It is all true, the old love never dies; And, parted, we must meet for ever ' T now. We did not think it true! We did not ♦ think Love meant this universal cry of pain, This crown of thorn, this vinegar to drink, This lonely crucifixion o’er again. Yet through the darkness of the sleepless night . Your tortured face comes meekly answering mine; Dumb, but 1 know why those mute lips are white, Dark, but I know why those dark' '; lashes shine. O love, love, Jove, and what if this should be For ever now, through God’s Eternity ? G © © Mustache Musings. You can tell the nationality Of any man. By clothes? Why, no; but simply by the style Of hair beneath his nose. The German count is known at once. By his mustache? Gewiss! You notice how the thing is trained T s. o i g 11 row like t In picking out an English lord You’ll never make a miss, (Because you know he wears his hair his lip like n t o h P * U s. ) The Frenchman is not picked because He dresses like a sport; But by his well- waxed black mustache, Thatsbushystraightandshort To tell the woolly westerner Is simple quite, I wis; For he’s the man whose coarse mustache Hangs care lessly like th is. © © © A Broken Reverie. By glowing ember-light I sit And fall to musing there; And dreams of life tumultuous flit About my study chair. The old camp-life, remembered still—Those mornings cool and clear: Glengarry ribbons whistle shrill And whip the tingling ear. The flickering flame brings back to me The camp-fire and the song: In shade and shine again 1 see The faces of the throng. One turn of Fortune, more or less— The wild life still were mine, And I had revelled in the stress Along the frontier line: Heard still the mellow bugles call, The tramp of marching feet, Till “Last Post” sounded over all, — Such life—and death—were sweett Waking, I turn to watch her face, Who silent knits the while: I count agaih each tender grace, And catch the loving smile. A merry voice the silence breaks: It is the children’s hour; And o’er my head my lassie shakes A rippling golden show’r; My boy leaps laughing to my knees, And claims to join the fray;— Ah, where were joys as sweet as these In any wilder day?

EDWARD F. SHEPHERD.

Divination. I have looked into a stream And have watched a woodland Dream Slip from out a pebbly cave, Silently her white limbs lave, To the surface rise, and float In a fragile, leaf-sailed boat Quickly down the tide afar Toward the sea where sets the star, Tell me, dweller by the sea, Did my Dream moor close by thee? I bars looked into a wood Where an elfin Fancy stood For a moment, then has flown Down a path with wild rose blown; On she went, and on I ran, Through the fairy haunts of Pan, Till I met a steep hillside Where my feet dared not abide. Tell me, dweller on the crest, Where do fleeting Fancies rest? I have looked into the sky When a Vision wandered by, Sailing close—so close to earth. Then afar with mocking mirth; Darting to the purple clime Set with lights of vesper-time, While I follow’ed—followed still Up the moon-enchanted hill. Tell me, dweller in a star, Where the ports of Dreamland are!

—Clarence Urmy.

© © © A Winter Night. The evening sky was fair. The golden light Among the garden borders dreamed a-while; Sweet flower-faces, confidently bright, Looked up to meet its smile. The night was still. Through star-strewn spaces wide The travelling moon, dowm-gazing on my bowers, Saw the frostfairy summon to her side The spirits of the flowers. The moon leaned low to watch her work her spell Alike on tender bud and petal pale. Her cold tears tinkled lightly as they fell Upon those flowerets frail. The sunbeams came once more, and piereed my dreams With radiant summons flashed across my bed, And did not tell me (false and faithless beams!) That all my flowers were dead.

M. E. GRAHAM.

love's Gifts. I gave my love a rose. Oh, foolish swain! Beside her radiant cheek its blushes paled; It breathed its fragrance on the air in vain, Amid the perfume by her sighs exhaled. I gave my love a peerless diamond bright. Such as a monarch’s diadem might hold; Before her wondrous eyes resplendent light Its dazzling brilliancy lay dead and cold. I I gave my love a pearl; but when she smiled. Within their ruby setting could be seen Two rows of Orient gems—pure, undefiled, As ever decked the brow of Eastern queen. I gave my love a heart. Oh, simple heayt! Oh, gift unprized! Oh, fond and foolish token! It found a home in which it had no part — Fell on a stony bed, and lay there broken!

—Constance LeVien Fox.