Verse Old and New

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XL, Issue 11, 14 March 1908, Page 43

Verse Old and New

An Emblem. I waited for a single flower to blow, (While all about me flowers were running wild; Gold-hearted king cups, sunnily that smiled, And daisies, like fresh-fallen flakes of snow, And rarest violets, sweet whole colonies Nestled in shady grasses by the brooks, That sang, for love of them and their sweet looks. Delicious melodies. Now they are perished, all the fragile throng, That held their sweetness up to me in vain. Only this single blossom doth remain, For whose unfolding I have waited long, Thinking, “How rare a bloom these petals clasp!” And lo! a sickly, dwarfed and scentless thing, Mocking my love and its close nourishing, ' And withering in my grasp. O dream! O hope! O promise of long years! Art thou a flower that I have nurtured so, Missing the every day sweet joys that grow By common pathways; moistened with my tears, .Watched through the dreary day and sleepless night, And all about they slender rootlets ■ ■ cast , . • . My life like water, but to find at last, ‘ ’“itterness and blight?

—Ina Coolbrith.

® © ® Old Mothers. M I love old mothers—mothers with white hair, And kindly eyes, arid lips grown softly sweet With murmured blessings over sleeping babes. There is something in their quiet grace That speaks the calm of Sabbath afternoons; A knowledge in their deep, unfaltering . eyes That far outreaches all philosophy. Time, with caressing touch, about them weaves The silver-threaded fairy shawl of age, While all the echoes of forgotten songs Seem joined to lend a sweetness to their speech. Old mothers! —as they pass with slowtimed step, Their trembling hands cling gently to youth’s strength; Sweet mothers! —as they pass, one sees again Old garden-walks, old roses, and old loves. —Charles S. Ross, in Century Magazine. © © © “ To-morrow.” Men say that they will do the work That at this moment they would shirk— That they will “hustle like a Turk” To-morrow. When the collector sternly comes A man gets off some haws and hums And promises the needful sums To-morrow. When evils- make the people warm They lift their voices and they storm And vow that cities they’ll reform To-morrow. Misunderstandings with a friend Are something that they soon will mend, They’ll bring these troubles to an end To-morrow. Oh, what a grand world this will be For every one, for you and me— Let’s hope that we may live to seo To-morrow.

—Chicago Post.

His Humble Uses. .She was versed in Greek and Latin, -She was versed in German, too; She was versed in all the classics, And the poets old and new. She had studied art and music, And in culture she was graced; But I note her weary husband Had to button up her waist. She could talk of bygone heroes. She could tell offhand their names; She could tell when Rome was founded, And the date it fell in flames. She could tell of styles and fashions, At a mile-a-minute rate; But she had to ask her husband If her hat was pinned on straight. —Detroit Free Press. © © © The Heart of a Man. A strong woman gave him the strength of her heart, And her eyes were warm with love; But he went his way —and he never knew What her eyes were dreaming of. A weak girl gave him the of her lips, And her word was cold deceit; But he heard her voice—and cast his heart In the pathway of her feet!

—Aloysius Coll.

© © © A Kiss. I never shall forget her troubled eyes, Nor that sweet look of maidenly surprise She raised to me, , When I, swift darting as a hawk, leaned down And lightly kissed her mouth. She did not frown— / But I could, see , The sudden colour rip’ning o’er her lips; And then a pallor spread its brief eclipse. Iler little sobs, as she leaned on my heart — I feel them now, and memories stir and start Like sap that feels the early vernal sun! But Love and all Love’s ways for me are done. She tore herself away from my embrace, And looked, a moment, mutely in my face; Then fled away from me, with birdlike whirr, Over the fallen spears of pine and flr— And all the light of life went out with her.

GENEVIEVE FARNELL.

© © © Triolet. Anon she blushes and anon grows pale; Is there no sign in either- hue for me? Alas! those roses tell no tender tale: She knows my secret! —and her face grows pale. Only for pity Love may not prevail. So rose and lily flower alternately: Whether she blush or whether she grow pale, I read no sign in either flower for me! H. Greenham. © © © A Sign. Mother’s writing Auntie Kate, Hoping she is better; Sister’s sending Cousin May A long and splendid letter. Brother Bill is writing, too. And Grandpa soon will get A letter from the little boy, That he has never met. We all are busy writing. To our friends away from here; And that’s a very certain sign That Christmas Day is near.

—Detroit Free Press.