Verse Old and New.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLV, Issue 13, 28 September 1910, Page 75

Verse Old and New.

The Pity of Death. TWAS the pity of Death that made him wait ere he whispered the summons low, And he turned to the folk at the palace gate as they questioned him all arow. “Are ye chiding me now that I call a king?” was the question he shot full straight. ’"Are ye marking the deed as a grievous thing, as a blunder of sightless fate? •‘I am old as the world and the ways of men. I am old as the hours of Time. I hawe palsied the fingers that held the pen that had written the sweetest rhyme. M I have aehened the -rosebud lips that yearned for the nectar of life’s full bliss. I have given the lesson that all have learned—and yet do ye ask me this! “Since the day that my hand had its first swift task at the bidding of angry Cain, J have harkened the question that now ye auk, and that many shall ask again. “Know ye Solomon rose at my whispered eall and that Caesar went forth with me? And the prisoner comes from his chain and ball, and the babe from the mother’s knee? “I have silenced the voice of the man of song; I have withered the artist’s hand— And ye whisper I do a grievous wrong, for ye never may understand.

“’Tift the purpose that runs through the days and years in a changeless and vast design That ye cannot discern for your frets and fears; so ye sigh that the fault is mine. “Tho’ I beckon a king, or a hireling •Imnb—are ye harvesting naught but dust? Is there nothing to you in the years to come but a withering wreath, and rust? “Now the life of a man i.s the goodly deeds he accomplishes day by day Ami the service he gives to his brothers’ needs—that I never may take away. “Are ye chiding me now that I call a king? See, I leave ye the robe and crown— And is it the work or the tinseled thing that shall give him bus fair renown ?” ’Twas the pity of Death that made him wait where the people stood a row. Then he turned and he struck on the palace gate, and he whispered the summons low. —Wi’lbwr D. Nesbit. ® © © An Epitaph. A lovely young lady I mourn in my rhymes: She was pleasant, good-natured and civil sometimes. Her figure was good: she had very fine eyes, And her talk was a mixture of foolish and wise. Her adorers were many, ami one of them said: “She waltzed rather well! It’s a pity she’s dead.” —George John Cayley.

The Wife. The little dreams of Maidenhood—--1 put them all away As tenderly as mothers would The toys of yesterday, When little children grow to men Too over wise for play. The little dreams 1 put aside — I loved them, every one. And yet, since moonblown buds must hide Before the noonday sun. 1 close them wistfully away, And give the key to none. O little dreams of Maidenhood — Lie quietly, nor care If some day in an idle mood T, searching unaware Through some (dosed corner of my heart, .Should laugh to find you there. — Theodosia Garrisojj* © © © Stranded. I’m straining at my moorings in the choking, shifting sands, The sport of every roller’s boisterous Where the seaweeds draw me inland with their brown and clinging hands. Toward the wet ami shallow beaches, shining grey. O, winds that never failed me, blow out and set me free; The creeping flats steal nearer with the tide, All wide and grey and desolate they stretch out to the sea And mock me with the memories of my pride. The pilgrim birds fly southward in the misty sunset pale, O’er shallow pools of gold and purple hue, Oh, to follow, follow, follow, through the wild autumnal gale, To palm trees set against the burning blue! Oh, give me back the sea wastes, the lonely lightning’s gleam, The wilderness below me and above,

The solitary visions and the battle and the dream. The endless trails and changes of my love! Give back the scenes of conflict, the courage and the fear, The eagerness and weariness and ruth. The eyes that through the battle saw the vision shining dear. The taut ami flashing canvas of my youth. O take me. sea. unto you. spent timbers rent and torn. And life and dreams and torment all shall cease: t’ome leaping in in fury from the bastions of the morn. Ami fling me to (he gulf of my release! •Edith Pratt Dirkins. © © © “ Live Thou in Nature Live thou in nature! Live With the stars and the winds; Take all the wild world can give, All thy free spirit finds Finds while the seasons pour Their braveries at thy feet; When the ice-rimmed rivers roar. Or summer waves their rote repeat. Let thy hushed heart take its fill Of the manifold voice of the trees* When leafless winter crowns the hill. Ami shallow waters freeze. Let budding Spring be thine. And autumn, brown and debonair, —- Days that darken and nights that shine—t Let all the round years be thy fare. Let not one full hour pass Fruitless for thee, in all its varied length; Take sweetness from tin* grass, Take from the storm its strength* Take beauty from the dawn. Patience from the sure seed’s delay; Take gentleness from the light withdraw n. And every virtue from the wholesome day. (Inscribed to T.R.- March 2.3. 1909.) Richard Watson Gilder. .