Selected Poetry

New Zealand Tablet, Volume L, Issue 1, 4 January 1923, Page 28

Selected Poetry

.7 The Toast o’ the Town 7 0 Love it was a rosy thing, a merry thing, a gay thing, It bloomed above this cold earth like, roses on 'the snow, It turned into a clawing thing, a cutting thing, a stabbi ig ■ thing— ' - x ’ . ' 'l’ve loved a rpany times, my lass; and I ought to know ! O I ov. it was a graceful thing, a tender thing, a touching thing, It bent above my lifting arms like wave crests o’er tho lend. ; O'’:; y;V . > It turned into a dull tiling, a clumsy thing, a crushing > thing / It’s bruised me many times, my lass, I ought to understand ! " ; S' O'Love it was a bloomy thing, a flamy thing, a starry •thing, : 4 ' : It flung me up above the clouds as stars leap in the sky. It turned into a leaden thing, a cursed ‘ thing, a corpse thing—- ' And yet I turn and look, my lass, to catch it, passing ' by! ’ • — Josephine Daskam Bacon, In Harper's. ¥ The Lion House ’ Always the heavy air, The dreadful cage, the low Murmur of voices where Some Force goes to and fro In an, immense despair. As through a , haunted brain With tireless footfalls The Obsession moves again, . Trying the floor, the walls, Forever, but in vain. In vain, proud Force A might, Shrewder than- yours, did t spin Around your rage that bright Prison of steel, wherein . You pace for ray delight. And oh, my heart, what Doom, What mightier’ Mind has wrought The cage, within whose room Paces your burning thought I For the delight of Whom? , ' John Hall . Wheelock, in Current Opinion , • ¥ Cover Your Faces •'7 v .... Cover your faces, O women— All you tv omen’ of Ireland ! Cover, your faces with your long hair And weep ‘ into its darkness!Yet weep not for the lad with the bravo gay eyes. Not for the lad with the sweetly turned lips, ...,. Not for the lad with the laugh that is stopped— No, not for Michael Collins, Although he lies strangely straight and still. Yet weep not even for him! . /y Cover your faces, 0 women—. , All you women of Ireland! 7 y v . Cover, your faces with your long hair ... / And weep .into the darkness! J '

Yet weep not for her whose spirit walked always at his side, Not for her whose eyes leaped to his eyes, - 5 Not for her whoso laugh answered his laugh. Not for-her whose heart spokeHo his heart. ilUl IUI liVl It XLWXS *4W«A* y “I' - r ' No, not for Kitty Kiernan —the woman -Whom this man loved — 5 /• 1 ... , Weep not even for her! ' . • ->. • Weep' not for Michael Collins, the quenched flame; • Weep not for Kitty Kiernan, the broken flower. But weep, : 0 women, • For all the lads of Ireland The glorious lads of Ireland, * Shattering each, other’s beautiful bodies, : Breaking each other’s quivering hearts — Brother against brother -. , Brother against brother! Weep, all you women of Ireland, And weep all you women of the world, ’n. 1 • Until your weeping is always a pitiful murmuring in their .ears— • '"v. . \ N Until your tears are always a pitiful dripping on their hearts! , , ~W -■ -.77;' Until they shall let their guns fall to the ground, Until they shall stretch out their hands-to each .other, Crying, “Brother! Brother! Brother!’’ f! y ’ , - , g Cover your faces, 0 women ■ \ All you women everywhere! Cover your faces with your long hair And weep into its darkness! ■'■'Yt.-xi - Mary Carmack McDougal, in the New York Times, ' Kensington Gardens ;7':7W;7^ TUB BLACKBIRD. y-7 . In the far corner close by the swings every morning a blackbird sings. , His bill’s so yellow, - his coat’s so black. that ho makes a fellow . whistle back,, i Ann my daughter . thinks that he - . : \ sings for us two especially, . . . . . . THE ALBERT MEMORIAL, In his heavy monument « Good Prince Albert - , sits all bent. Even death could not assuage the burden of ’v .;. his golden cage. , THE TRAMPS. The tramps, slink in at half-past fourin the sweet summer weather, ' v and stretch upon ’the grass and snore peaceably all together. ■-< . They look like litter on the ; grass ~ . • and not: like sleeping men ' ’ that lifethe feaster—dropped and has , :. v - not tidied A up again. vj- . Humbert Wolfe, in the London Chaphnok,