Verse Old and New.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLIII, Issue 16, 20 October 1909, Page 71

Verse Old and New.

Wlmmen Folk. TOIME was I thought av wimmen, sure, As made to reverince, limb be limb; As something holy-like and pure Thro’ all the snow white lingth av him! I dreamed av gurls as angels, lad, Wid all their wistful holy ways, To leave you tremblin’ when ye’d had A word. wid thim . . in oulder days! But now I’ve learned, me topsail lore And roved the sea from rim to rim, I seldom wait and' quake before The soft and snow white lingth av thim! For when gurls love you well, me lad, They’re true to nayther law nor letther; And when they’re most disheartin’ bad Ye learn to love such angels betther! Arthur Stringer. © © © To a Lost Love. I cannot look upon thy grave, Tho’ there the rose is sweet; Better to hear the long wave wash These wastes about my feet! Shall I take comfort? Dost thou live A spirit, tho’ afar, With a deep hush about thee, like The stillness round a star? Oh, thou art cold! In that high sphere Thou art a thing apart, Losing in saner happiness This madness of the heart. And yet, at times, thou still shalt feel A passing breath, a pain; Disturb’d, as tho’ a door in heaven Had oped' and closed again. And thou shalt shiver, while the hymns, The solemn hymns, shall cease;

A moment half remember me: Then turn away to peace. But oh, for evermore,'thy look, Thy laugh, thy charm, thy tone, Thy sweet and wayward earthliness, Dear trivial things, are gone! Therefore I look not on thy grave, Tho’ there the rose is sweet; But rather hear the loud wave wash These wastes about my feet. Stephen Phillips. © © © Spinsterhood. 1 have looked on the king. From out of the North he came; The world was busy and blind; but my heart took wing At the light in his face, and the truth swept out like a flame, And I said, “’Tis the king!” The depths of my soul felt the breath of a strange new word, And an unfledged joy I bore on my breast unseen. All my life dreamed into the voice that my spirit heard. Singing, “Thou art the queen.” But the king passed by with never a glance at me; He was gazing aloft at a star, or down ait a stone, With a brow that pondered and eyes that were keen to see. And I wait, alone. Jane Carmyn. © © © Elemental Conflict. “I’m the whole shooting match,” said the lightning; “I can rend the tall mountains asunder!” “Yet they harness you! See? And they can’t harness me, For I’m the Big Noise!” said the thunder.

The Angel With the Book. When to that house I came which, long ago, My heart had buiided of its joy and woe, Upon its-threshold, lo! I paused again, Dreading to enter; fearing to behold The place wherein my Love had lived of old, And where my other self lay dead and slain. I feared to see some chap, some Hops, once dear, Behind the arras, dead; some face of fear With eyes accusing that would sear my soul, Taking away my manhood and my strength With heartbreak memories. . . And yet, at length, Again I stood within that house of dole. Sombre and beautiful with stately things The long hall lay; and by the stairs the wings Of Life and Love rose, marble and unmarried. And all the walls, hung grave with tapestry, Gesticulated sorrow; gazed at me, Strange speculation in their dark regard. Through one tall oriel the close of day Glared with its crimson face and laid a ray, A burning finger, on the stairway where A trail of tears, as of a wounded heart, Led to a passage with a room apart, A room where Love had perished of despair. Now all was empty—silent even of sighs: And yet I felt within that room were eyes, Unearthly eyes I dared not look upon And feared to see; within them hell and heaven Of all the past: I dared not; and yet, even While still I stood, my feet were slowly drawn Into that room lit by those eyes. . . I saw An Angel standing with the Book of Law; His raiment glittering from head to feet, And swords of light and darkness in his eyes;

He stood, the great book, open to the skies, Like some great heart throbbing with rosy heat. One moment burned the vision; then I heard, Not with my ears, but with my soul, this word—“l am the Law through which Love is. Each one Through me must win unto his heaven or hell. I build the house in which the memories dwell Of joy and sorrow. Now my task is done.” And so he vanished, smiling. Holy fear Bowed me to earth; and flaming, very near, I felt ‘his presence still, like some strange spell, That turned my vision inward, where I saw That this was Love, w'hose other name is Law, For whom was built my House of Heaven and Hell. ffi © © The Garland and the Girdle. What joy hath you glad wreath o. flowers that is Around her golden hair so deftly twined, Each blossom pressing forward from behind, As though to be the first her - brows to kiss! The livelong day her dress hath perfect bliss. That now reveals her breast, now seems to bind; And that fair woven net of gold refined Rests on her cheek and throat in happiness. Yet still more blissful seems to me ths band Gilt at the tips, so sweetly doth it ring And clasp the bosom that it serves to lace; Yes! and the belt to such as understand, Bound round her waist, saith —'“Here I’d ever cling!” What would my arm do in that girdle’s place ? —Michael Angelo, translation of

J. A. Symonds.