TO THE POET MYSTIC.

New Zealand Tablet, 23 October 1919, Page 7

TO THE POET MYSTIC.

(For the N.Z. Tablet.) Your muse is set too high for me to know — Listening here below. Your harp is strung of chords struck from the stars! And dim, shadowy bars Like soffl upbeating of ethereal wings, Fall from your haunted strings. Your soul soars ever where the mystics sit Searching tho infinite — Your rhapsody is blent with Asian speech, Too far for me to reach — Your voice is deep as the eternal chime That tolls the round of time. I havo not vision of the super-wise—■ Nor wings that cleave tho skies; And so I only hear your poet mind As song thrown on the wind, In realms of mystery your dreams have birth, And mineupon the earth. Harold Gallagher. Christchurch.