Verse Old and New

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLII, Issue 26, 30 June 1909, Page 71

Verse Old and New

A. Desert Impression. THE hour before dawn, Each breath is a sigh, The camel-men yawn And glance at the sky. The distance is drear With silhouettes drawn And ghastly. We fear The hour before dawn. The hour before noon, Each breath is a gasp, Oh, water us soon! Each tongue, like a rasp, Is rugged with thirst; Our starvelings swoon, . Oh, sunshine-accursed, The hour before noon! The hour before dusk, Each breath is a sob, A ration of husk! Our weary limbs throb, Made sick with their load Of spices and musk. It acts like a goad, The hour before dusk. © © ® The Nervous Child. He harried the household cat, He worried and whipped the dog, He. sat on his auntie’s hat, He caught and he killed a frog; He lamed with a sizable stone The best of his uncle’s chickens, He broke the bed and it may be said, With truth, that he raised the dickens, Till grandmother raised her eyes, she did, And murmured: “The Lord preserve us!” But mother remarked as she kissed the kid, "The poor little dear is nervous.”

He fidgeted, sulked, and fussed— So dainty about his meat, He screamed that his mother must Have something a fellow could eat, He answered his auntie back, He snapped at his uncle, too, He tortured and teased and did as he pleased And not what they wished he’d do; Till grandmother raised her eyes, she did, And murmured: “The Lord preserve us!” But mother remarked as she kissed the kid: “The poor little dear is nervous.” © © © Indian Pipe. In the heart of the forest arising. Slim, ghostly, and fair, Ethereal offspring of moisture, Of earth, and of air, With slender stems anchored together Where first they uncurl, Each tipped with its exquisite lily Of mother-of-pearl, Mid the pine-needles—closely enwoven Its roots to ernbale — The Indian-pipe of the woodland, Thrice lovely and frail! Is this but an earth-springing fungus— This darling of Fate, That out of the mouldering darkness . Such light can create? Or is it the spirit of Beauty, Here drawn by love’s lure To give to the forest a something Unearthy and pure : To crystallise dewdrop and balsam And dryad-lisped words And starbeam and moonrise and rapture And song of wild birds?

At the Auto Show. He talked about transmission and magnetos in a way That made you think he owned a ear and drove it every day; He kept the salesman busy showing him the new devices. And was not interested when they quoted him their prices; But after all his posing and the fine way he had talked. When it was time for going home I noticed that he walked.

He could spot the latest models, their advantages he knew, He hoped some day to find a car that wouldn’t skid or slejv; He spoke of carburetors in a most convincing way Till a crowd had gathered round him to hear what he had to say; But when it came to buying, it was there he always balked, And when it came to going home I noticed that he walked. Human nature is a study and the auto show’s a school. The human trait of showing off is one that’s bound to rule; We want the world to view us as we some day hope to be. And not the way .we really are. That’s human I’ll agree. In other things as motorears, the man ' who loudest talks, May soar in speech but when it comes to going home—he walks. “Detroit Free Press.” © © © Tike Voice of Ocean. A cry went through the darkness; and the moon. Hurrying through storm, gazed with a ghastly face. Then cloaked herself in scud ; the merman race Of surges ceased; and then th’ aeolian croon Of the wild siren, Wind, within the shrouds Sunk to a sigh. The ocean in that place

Seemed listening; haunted, for a nit merit’s s]>aee, By something dread that cried against the clouds. Mystery and night; and with them fog and rain: And then that cry again—as if the deep Uttered its lonelines in one dark, word: Her horror of herself; her titan painj Her monsters; and the dead that sh» must keep, Has kept alone, for centuries, unheard ® © © Charge of the Fair Brigade. (With Apologies to the shade of Tennyson.) Half a step, half a step, Half a step onWard! Over there the bargains lie On the counters piled so high, Luring the unnumbered. Forward the fair brigade, "Charge through the aisles!” they cried. (Three know what they want to buy—• Anxious unnumbered!) Bargains to right of them; Bargains to left of them; Bargains in front of them, • There to be plundered. Storm they with right good will; Boldly they push and well; Into the jaws of death, Where the herd bargains sell, Push the unnumbered! When will their courage fade? Oh, the wild charge they made! All the men wondered, Yet "honoured” all the charges made, As oft before they’d paid For their wives' plunder. Forward the fair brigade! Happy unnumbered! © © © The Wise Old Owl. A wise old owl lived in an oak, The more he saw the le-s he spoke, The less he spoke, the more he heard; Why can’t we all be like''that bird?