Verse Old and New.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLVIII, Issue 24, 11 December 1912, Page 71

Verse Old and New.

An Error, on the Whole. THE ladies etopped the little boy whose legs were briareeratehed And marvelled at the funny way his little pants were patched. "Why did they pateh with white?’’ they asked, "and not nee brown instead ?” The small boy scowled and touched the spot. "That ain’t no patch,” he said. © © © A Cry From the New Lands. There’s loud complaint from the farming wen In the land of the sable swan, For there isn’t a wife for one in ten, They say, and they can’t get on Tnless some vessel with crowded-decks, Her tops’ls soon shall'furl, And land a load of the softer sex— A load of assorted girl. The cry rings out of a thousand throats In piteous minor chords. As a hustling cablegram it floats To the land of the House of Lords. It says: "Don’t send its your woollen goods, ill The sons of yer bankrupt earls, Yer calico stuff, or yer patent foods, But send us a lot of girls. “Giris to iron and girls to cook. Who'll give us a sympathetic look Who haven’t got time to cry, If we can’t digest their pie. 60 don’t be sending us useless things, As change for our gold and pearlsj But send us a ton of wedding rings, And a hundred tons Of girls.” —G. Herbert Gibson.

The Magic Mirror. One evening—’tie an Eastern story — The lily slept, the bat was flitting, The sun on clouds of crimson glory Was, like an ancient Sultan, sitting; The sky was dew. the air was balm, The camels by the tents were grazing, A Pilgrim sat beneath a palm. Upon the Western splendour gazing. He plucked in careless reverie A bud beside him: wasn’t a flame That quivered on his startled eye? From earth the little lustre came. He lisped a prayer, and half in terror. The night had just began to close him, Dug up the turf ami found a mirror, And hid the sparkler in his bosom. Next morn ere Sal's first ray had shot, The Pilgrim gazed upon his treasure; The edge with mystic shapes was wrought, Wreath'd in a dance of love and pleasure. But in the centre was the wonder; His face with youth and beauty shone! Old Time had yielded up his plunder, By Allah! fifty years were gone! His hour of precious gazing o’er, The Pilgrim strayed to Bagdad city; Then sat him by a kiosk door, And turned his pipe, and sang his ditty: But not a soul would -stop to listen. At last an ancient dame pass’d by; She saw-, by chance, the mirror glisten, Stopped, gazed, and saw her wrinkles fly! A dozen like herself soon gazed, And each Beheld a blooming beauty; The story through the city blazed, Their alms were but a Moslem’s duty! The man and maids by thousands gathered. Each visage won the rose's dye; The Pilgrim's nest was quickly feathered. The mirror’s name was—flattery!

From the Sublime. : "Mystics have sought in all ages the one inspired word that shall hold the hearts of men.”—Even Paper.) I was ever a lover, from early days. Of the musical word and sounding phrase: And ever I sought, in the midst of all, The word that should hold the world in thrall. I thought at first that twas "love” maybe, That should give the key to the mystery; And later, when forced by fate to roam, I deemed that the one great word was “home.” And yet when, dear Phoebe, your beaqty came To purge my heart like a living flame, I deamed that the wondrous word of life That held all joy in its heart was “wife.” But yet, as I put the years behind, I knew I had still to seek, to find; And now that my hair is thin and grey, I am forced to conclude that word is “pay”! —stephen Southwold. © © © The Dignified Man. Pity, oh. pity the dignified gent! Pity. oh. pity the dignified chap, Who looks so ridiculous in a mishap. He slips in the mud, and it giveth tielight ; His tie climbs his neck, and we laugh at the sight—Things for which you and I wouldn’t care half a rap—* Pity, oh pity the dignified chap! Pity, oh, pity the dignified man, Who never can act like the rest of us can. You and I, if we care to. can run half a block; But if he -hoirld try it, ’t would give us a shock; For him all frivolity’s under the ban. Pity, oh, pity the dignified man. Pity, oh, pity the dignified one, Who cannot unbend for a bit of mild fun,

Who has to be stately and sober and staid, And stiff a*- a drum-major out on parade, Who looks like a picture of tJeorge Washton. Pity, oh, pity the dignified one! Pity, oh. pity the dignified p nt. W ho cannot indulge in undue merriment. Whenever 1 see him I’m tempted. I own, lo give him a poke in the vest-pocket zone lo see if his marblene*s cannot be bent. >5 Poetry and Frose. HE. 1 did not know before we met I'hat breezes ever blew so *weetlv« I did not know I might forget AH but my love for yon. complete!v; I did not know before 1 heard 1 he music of your voice how pleading The cademe o. the poorest word—-'-HE. Aw, now I know you’re only teasing. HE. Before we met I never knew The gleaming -tars could shine so brightly Or that the sparkle of the drw Could cause mv heart to beat so lightly; Before I gazed in your soft eyes And felt a thrill of joy surge through me 1 had not guessed how fair the skies —- SHE. Aw. «ay. what’s thi* \ ou’re handin’ to met HE. I did not know t ie 1 beheld You in your fresh and wholesome beauty How sweet the blushing roses >melled, Nor could I whistle while on duty; But since you came to make me glad Sweet songs come to my lips unbidden, And I’ve forgotten to be sad—. SHE. Sav, Algernon. cut oat the kiddin’•

—S. E. Kiser.