Verse Old and New.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLIX, Issue 20, 14 May 1913, Page 71

Verse Old and New.

The Appendix. (With apologies to Mr. Poe.) ©NGE upon a noontide dreary—under ether, weak and weary—• As the opera Ung-table grim my senseless carcass bore, Suddenly there came a zipping, as of someone gently snipping, As of someone coolly ripping, ripping up my- tummy’s floor. “ ’Tis a surgeon,” low I murmured, "ripping up my tummy’s floor —- Doctor Jones, and may be more.* Ab! Distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December, And each simple separate weapon thirsted deeply’ for my gore; Eagerly they close did shave me; antiseptics then did lave me; And the blackest pills they gave me, till I shrieked—nay even swore; Then by the lift they took me to the operating floor— Yanked me in and locked the door. They then cut and sawed and gashed me, and they filed and bored and hashed me. Till they’ found and wrenched thee from me, fair Appendix— lost Lenore! “Doctor!” yelled I, “prithee tell me (to" this cry my fears impelled me), Doctor Jones thou sure must tell me, tell me true, I thee implore: Can't I have appendicitis as I used in days of yore?” Quoth the Doctor: "Nevermore!” So, Appendix, thou hast left me —deeply, sadly hast bereft me. On earth thy pangful pangs I’ll feel, oh, never, never more!

But perhaps -when life has fled me, and the Angel Hosts has led me Up to join the heavenly chorus on the shining, shim’ring shore, There I’ll find thee and I'll clasp thee to ruy sear, my lost Lenore — One again for evermore! — Robert G. Belladu © © © Where Summer Dwells. Winter walks on his wind-swept stair; 'All the world is a gloomy aisle. Footsteps creak in the angry air. Barren snow covers flag and tile. Warren clouds, in grim ranks, defile Down the slopes of the sodden skies; But what care you, Love, or I, tha while Summer dwells in your eager eyes! Jack Frost stalks where the hills lie bare; Through the valleys the north winds pile Drift on drift, with a trumpet blare, Hungrily sweeping mile on mile, Never a welcome, never a smile, Never a cheer for the hope that dies; But what care you, Love, or I, the while Summer dwells in your eager eyes! Memory seeks for her far haunts, where Verdure crept over- path and stile; But Unrest, and her comrade, Care, None can solace and none beguile. Many a trick and many a wile We’ve acquired, yet now despise; But what care you, Love, or I, the while Summer dwells in your eager eyes! Seasons serve us with tinsel style, Fancies rule as in them lies; But what care you, Love, or I, the while Summer dwells in your eager eyes! —.James Owen Tyron.

Voice Culture. When Phyllis sings the very air Is moved—and this I know! The breezes mend their pace and bear Her message as they go. The front door plains, the back door, too, Each curtain outward swings, A shrill wind whistles up the flue When Phyllis sings. When Phyllis sings the neighbours mark The temper of her voice, Then run to rest them in the park, And, resting there, rejoice. No neighbour of them all to sleep Floats on her music’s wings, But rents grow most surprising cheap When Phyllis singe. When Phyllis sings—0, woe is me! I know what I can bear! And when she strives to reach high C, I wish I drifted there. I heave a sort of absent sigh And in my fancy clings Longing that, I far, far might fly When Phyllis sings! © © © Sleep Song. Hush the homeless babys crying. Tender sleep! Every, folded violet May the outer storm forget! Those wet lids with kisses drying, Through them creep! Soothe the soul that lies thought-weary, Murmurous Sleep! Like a hidden brooklet's song, Rippling gorgeous woods among, Tinkling down the mountains dreary, White and steep. Breathe tliy balm upon the lonely, Gently- Sleep! As the twilight breezes bless With sweet scents the wilderness, Ah, let warm white dove-wings only Round them sweep! O'er the aged pour thy blessing, Holy Sleep! Like a soft and ripening rain Falling on the yellow gr x ain, For the glare of suns oppressing, Pitying weep!

O'er thy still seas met together. Charmed Sleep! Hear them swell a drowsy hymning. Swans to silvery music swimming, ■Floating with unruffled feather. O'er the deep! —Luey Lareom © © © ‘ Outre Mer. I see, as one in dreaming, A broad, bright, quiet sea; Beyond it lies a haven— The only home for me. Some men grow strong with trouble. But all my strength is past, And lived and full of sorrow: I long to sleep at last. By force of chance and changes Man’s life is hard at, best; And seeing rest is voiceless, The dearest thing is rest. Beyond the sea—behold it! The home I wish to seek, The refuge of the weary. The solace of the weak! Sweet angel-fingers beckon. Sweet angel voices ask My soul to cross the waters; And yet I dread the task. God help the man whose trials Are taxes he must reap! He cannot face the future—His only h6pe is sleep. Across the main a vision Of sunset eoasts and skies. And widths of waters gleaming Enchant my human eyes. 1, who have sinned and suffered Have sought—with tears have sought To rule my- heart with goodness. And shape it to my thought. And yet there is no refuge. To shield me from distress, Except the realm of slumber Ami great forgetfulness. Henry Kendall.