Verse Old and New.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLVII, Issue 19, 8 May 1912, Page 71

Verse Old and New.

Independence. ©UR maid's away! Into the very kitchen I boldly stalk, noisy and unafraid I help my Genevieve to dry the dishes Coolly and undismayed. (I’ve broken two cups and a .small sized platter — But that’s no matter.) Our maid’s away! We order from tiie grocer’s .Soup, fish, meat, vegetables in the can, Crackers, and cheese, and anything that's handy, To stay the inner man. (I dSn’t deny the stull' is rather flat— But what of that?) Our maid's away! .We linger over dinner. Talk gossip, nonsense, anything we please. Most times, with .lane's reproving eye upon ns. We hardly dare tn sneeze. (We cleared the table after twelve last „ night— But that’s all right!) Our maid's away! Better a erust with freedom Than richest viands and a slavish mind! Welcome simplicity and a frugal diet >So I live uneon fined. (She's coming baek to-day— Hooray!) © © © All She Asked. “All that I ask is love,” she sang; They pitied her for her choice, And thought as they sat there listening, And suffering torture, that the thing She needed most was a voice.

Two Old Friends in New Dress. Old Mother Hubbard went to the Cupboard To get her poor dog a bone, But when she got there she remembered that, owing to the high cost of living, she hadn't had any meat for a week, And so her poor dog got a cold storage egg- t ' tattle Bo Peep, she lost her sheep, And she didn't know where to find them. Happening to stroll down to the Stock exchange one day she saw them waiting their turn, with a few well dressed and discreetly-gesti-culating. wolvee directly Behind them. © © © Guarded. Once, long ago, a little one of mine Would take my hand and look into my face, As if she magically might divine My tempted heart, my imminent disgrace; And 'by that hand clasp and that wistful look Would lead me safe into the better way, Her faith so perfect that I eould not brook The thought of aught to waken her dismay." That little one has vanished; o’er her head Blow summer blooms, and on her stone you read The simple story of the life she led, Joyous in semblance, innocent in deed. But even yet. across the dim of years— How many!—comes in the old pleading guise, To keep me clean from all that soils and sears, 1 The Christ-like candor of those early eyes. - —Richard Burton, in Harper’s Magazine.

Money. •- : . - - Money that you sighed for, and cried . for, and lied for. Money that you.lied for, that led you • to betray Duty, friendship, love and honour: Strumpet Fortune, now you've won her. Has she given you enough to make it pay? Money that you harried for, married for, tarried for, Money that you tarried for when bugles called "Away”; Has it given you aught of bliss? Has it given you back the kiss Of yoiir first love or the honours of the fray ? Money that you grieved for, deceived for, thieved for, Money that you thieved for, from others stole away. Does it cheer you when you ponder, On the workers who went under, In the sordid fight you fought to make things pay ? Money that you prayed for, betrayed for, and preyed for. Money that yon preyed for, made weaker folks your prey. Do you see her when you meet, Furtive women on the street She your love left harhourless —a easta way ? Money that yon toiled lor, and moiled for, despoiled for. Money you despoiled for, it can not take away The phantoms from your death-bed side, Of harlot, thief, and suicide Met to greet your passing soul and claim their pay. Money that you sought for, and wrought for, ami fought for. Money that you fought for, yet can not take away. On your gold there’s an embargo, You must jettison your cargo, Ere your soul fares forth on its tin charted wav.

Money that you cried for. and lie,! for, and died for, Money that you died for, yet could - not take away. On your coffin lid the rattle Of the gravel calls to buttle Ami your heirs-at-law are off to start the fray. — Hallett Alsop Borrowe, in “Harper’s Weekly.’ © © © A Protest. Yes; I greatly love my garden, Where the rose is still a rose; And 1 beg nobody’s pardon When I speak of lily-blows; Though no longer, gentle Howers, Are your simple names the thing. And my neighbour's fragrant bowers To strange nomenclatures ring. I don't mind the "Captain '<y” As a flower full and free; It is just, as sweet and trysty As the pink rose used to be; But it fills me with derision When my Scotch rose from afar Flaunts its beauty on my vision As a spinosissima. Ami perchance I’m rather silly, Yet it hurts my feelings some 'When 1 hear my Japan lily Called a laneifoliiim; , And the simple, sweet verbena Doesn't somehow seem to please, When it blooms in the arena As a tenerioides. Who would know his honeysuckle As a perielymenuni, Or the berry of the buckle As a Pennsy 1 vanienni ? And the Dutchman’s pipe—reliance Of the lattice popularNow is smothered deep by science As a macrophyllia 1 I don't mind appendicitis As a name for stomach-ache, And no doubt for book ami treatise It is well such terms to fake; But for me. when in my bowers 'Mid my blossoms sweet and shy, None shall dub my peeping Howers Flora rubberneckii! ■—John M. Woods.