Selected Poetry

New Zealand Tablet, Volume LII, Issue 22, 17 June 1925, Page 32

Selected Poetry

UNHAPPINESS. (For the N.Z. Tablet.) -Why dost thou brood with me, Unhappiness, ■' And hatch forth images that I detest To mar my pleasant hour of idleness With sights ungainly, when I fain would ■ rest •">-•, My weary soul in kind forgetfulness, E'en leave to others duty's ardent quest? Thou black-wing'd raven, why shouldst thou enthrone Thyself upon my couch .as on thine own ? Oh! what hateful ugly brood is thine! First Pride with mantle of Ingratitude, Whose haughty eyes gaze coldly into mine, Stiff-kneed, long-neck'd, forgetting once she sued >• My intercession; not a word, a-sign That she remembers her vicissitude; Ah! Let her mount her carriage grand, and drive Away; her talons .shall not my soul rive. 'Tis Covetousness with cautious eyes now steals Toward my fireside; claw-like hands, and cheeks Of furrow'd ivory; no joy he feels Save in the golden hoard fast passing weeks Amass; in vain the widow weeps, appeals— His soul is flint; at her approach, he shrieks, "I am not rich! Oh! Poor, so poor am I!" Aye, so he is, and poorer still will die. In robe of silk, most sensual of drape. With rubies flaming in her blue-black hair, There glides before me an enthralling shape, With sandall'd feet,'her round arms white and bare, Her soft, smooth shoulders that have dar'd escape Pretension's veil; arise my soul! Beware The long-fring'd, almond eyes of Lust now turn Their lure upon thee! Spurn this creature! s Spurn ! Hot-headed anger breaks forth from thy nest, And shouts aloud his maledictions, while In silent gloom dost watch, but fearful lest .-.Thy silence still his wrath, dost faintly .4. smile, For thou, Unhappiness, wouldst make thy jest ■ • ,-.. . -..:■-■: A fuel to his fire; 0 harpy vile. To taunt him thus whose tortured senses -burst - -With indignation, be for ever curst! But lo! what drunken reveller is this "Who staggers on towards.' me with wild eyes ... Protruding, and .uncertain feet that miss Their pathway? On whose lips and doub- \ let lies

J A devil's rosary, droj)p'd as in bliss Revolting Gluttony his flagon dries, His soul the price 'fore grape-crown'd Bacchus laid, Forgotten that his dying Saviour paid. But hush! 'Tis Envy's whisp'ring voice I hear Come like a dagger stabbing through the gloom, Half-hidden in the shadows of her fear, In borrow'd jew'ls she creeps into my ' room, With poison'd breath fills all the atmosphere, And well-nigh chokes, brings to their doom, All righteous men within whose armor she Each chink discerns, and calls iniquity. With slow, tir'd step, in loosen'd garments clad, Comes Sloth, dull-eyed, with heavy sleep, and trails His lazy way across my floor, a sad, Degrading sight; his starv'd child's voice e'en fails To pierce his lethargy; that awful pad, Indifference lies upon his heart and bales Of selfishness envelop him; the last! Avaunt, Unhappiness! Thy hour is past! —Ax e stings. XX THE DAWNING OE THE YEAR. All ye who love the springtime—and who but loves it well When the little birds do sing, and the buds ' begin to swell! — Think not ye ken its beauty, or know its face so dear, Till ye look upon olid Ireland in the dawning of the year! For where in all the earth is there any joy like this, When, the skylark sings and soars like a spirit into bliss, While the thrushes in the bush strain their small brown mottled throats, Making the air rejoice with their clear and mellow notes; And the blackbird on the hedge in the golden sunset glow Trills with saucy, side-tipped head to the bonny nest below; And the dancing wind slips down through the leaves of the boreeu, And all the world rejoices in the wearing o' the green ! For 'tis green, green, green, where the ruined towers are gray, And it 'is green, green, green, all the happy - night and day . . ' -Green of leaf and green of sod, green of ivy - on the wall. . •

And the blessed Irish shamrock with' the fairest green of all. ' ,", There the primrose breath is sweet, and \ the; yellow gorse is set, .'?& . A crown of shining gold on the headlands brown and wet; Not a nook of all the land but the daisies make to glow, i And the happy violets pray,in their hidden cells below. : i:r--Ay ■•',}■'■ {A ' ■ "•-—: ■ ••*:■: . .'-.•;; .- And it's there the earth is merry, like a - young thing newly made Running wild amid the blossoms in the .field and in the glade, Babbling ever into music under skies with soft clouds piled, Like the laughter and the tears in the blue eyes of a child. But the green, green, green 0 'tis that is blithe and fair! In the fells and on the hills, gay and.gladsome as the air, Lying warm above the bog, floating brave on crag and glen, Thrusting forty banners high where another land has ten. Sure Mother Nature knows of her sore and heavy grief, And thus with soft caress would give solace and relief; Would fold her close in loveliness to keep her from the cold, And clasp the mantle o'er her heart with emeralds and gold. / / So ye who love the springtimeand who but loves it well When the little birds do sing, and the buds begin to swell! Think not ye ken its beauty or know its face so dear Till yo meet it in old Ireland in the dawning of the year! —Mary Elizabeth Blake, in the Irish World.fcst TIME. You must not linger, little stream: There is no time to sleep and dream. Too long you've loitered in the glade And by the bending willows played. So, little stream, just hurry on; The hours are fleeting, one by one. River! You must not stay, but flow Swift as an arrow from the bow. The sea is calling far away, So hasten on; you must not stay. : Youth will not wait; it runneth ■> fast > ;? *F Into Life's river, deep and vast. : p - Which floweth down into the sea, >- The gateway of Eternity. - v —Joiif/N Joseph Morris, in the Irish . < %' -,-■-.■': ■'■ ■■■ • Catholic*