Selected Poetry

New Zealand Tablet, Volume LII, Issue 42, 4 November 1925, Page 32

Selected Poetry

ALIKE, AVhenever skies, are brightly blue And sunlight fills the air, My thoughts, dear Mother, turn to you AVhose loveliness they share. The pretty blue is just- thy dress, The sunbeams are thine eyes, And both the world with gladness bless The world that’s good and wise. —Neale Mann, in the Ave Maria. * THERE ARE SAVEET FIELDS. There are sweet fields that lie Under the mountains, ' AVhere life runs pleasantly Like little fountains. There has the sun forgot His cruel fire, And the strong air wanders not From the craig-heads higher. There may the grey heart sing How youth was stronger, And love a far-off thing That hurts no longer. —lolo Aneurin Williams, in An Anthology . . of Modern Verse. ri Si * THESE AVATERS. r Thou shalt not fear these waters, • Though disappointment, disbelief, ill-health, • Hatred, or jealousy, or fear of pain For some dear loved one cloud thine eyes with dread. , Thou shalt not fear these waters; There will come i One precious moment troubling them with life And dowering them with beauty in the dawn ; That thou may’st bathe and heal thy sores and wounds. Thou shalt not fear: Lo, I, who love thee, see These bitter waters of Gethsemane , May be Bethseda’s lovely pool for thee. .—A. Doris L. AATlson, in the London Observer. Si TO ONE ACROSS THE SEA. • I send this song to you across the sea. Here in this land of dreams called Italy The memory of you is like a song Through all the golden hours, as sweet as strong. I hear your Amice in dulcet melodies Borne by the sea-tinged, blossom-scented breezeA. our voice and the low whisper of the sea, A minor chord of matchless harmony ; And in the multitudes that come and go. Your face and yours alone I see, aglow As on that magical remembered day, On a bright sea, under the sky of May. I send this song to you across the sea From this fair land of dreams, your Italy! Lena AVhittakeb Blakenby, in Munsey’s.

-r*nr\rr JDWiXO. Oh, the clever folk grow weary in making books and things, To give the world the facts of life, dry prose of moons and suns; I’d like to learn a spell to keep the flash of pixie-wings, And make a lasting fairy-tale to give the little ones! The little ones of life are those who long and droop and tiro For something they can never reach, a glint of faery gold; They leave a waiting hearth behind to watch a gipsy fire, And chase their frail moon-butterflies with fingers blue with cold. Dear God, AVho made the world and all, and gave us dreams of fairies, AVho gives us all our love of books, that we may read and run, Give me to find and learn the spell that very deep and rare .is, And leave a little book of songs to please some little one! Anne Page, in Tin: Home Magazine, V OCTOBER. Come, forsake your city street! Come to God’s own fields and meet October. Not the lean, unkempt and brown Counterfeit that haunts the town, Pointing, like a thing of gloom, At dead summer in her tomb; Reading in each fallen leaf Nothing but regret and grief. Come out, where, beneath the blue, You may frolic with the true October, Call his name and mark the sound, Opulent and full and round; “October.” Come, and gather from his hand Lavish largess of the land; Read in his prophetic eyes, Clear as skies of paradise, Not of summer days that died, But of summer fructified! Hear, 0 soul, his message sweet. Come to God’s own fields and meet October. T. A. Daly, jn Carmine, . * REST. Under green reeds, upon the flowered banks Of a -singing stream I dreamed I lay Near to me, very near, were all the friends hat I have known and loved since time was born. AA e did not speak each other —yet each felt The blessed presence of the silent—throng. Each lay alone, each his own sweet dream dreaming. No need was there for either word or touch — And, though at times soft, whiter hands beckoned us, .

We lay quite still and would not be disturbed. Above us we beheld the countless host ■ t *‘ e ’ Of millions who have not yet learned u?--. dream; Yet, knowing they would come to us one day, AVe only smiled and closed our eyes again. AVe saw and heard, but we were not concerned. AVe lay there quietly; we were at rest. — James M. AVarnack, in the Los Angeles Times Magazine. V “ SAVALLOAVS,” Blithe swallows winging, gliding on the air, Through gate and doorway, e’en into my home Voiced like tiny silver cymbals, now you come; What with your mirth I know not to compare : Spring’s message 'tis you carry everywhere: Skies clear their sullen looks where’er - you roam As zephyrs lightly breathe along the loam, A on bid our hearts shake off their weight of care. Daunt labor smiles, luxury brooding sighs; Such wisdom, and such lolly in us lies; Some take this world of change at its just worth, And, like the swallows, jubilant set forth: And, whether summer blooms, or winter snows, The sunshine in their hearts its radiance shows. -—Bernard Tansey, in the Irish World.p* * OLD SISTER MARY GREGORY. Like some tried, faithful servant That has her Master’s ear, Old Sister Mary Gregory 'lnsists that God shall hear, She has so much to say to Him She says it without fear. For though a convent hid her youth, And she was no man’s bride, And never heard a baby’s feet Pit-patter at her side, Yet she has children by tie score, And sends them far and wide. She’s, sons that go across the sea -They write from far away; She’s children sick and children sad, And children -wild and gay. She tells their names each night to God Lest they forget to pray. . • The devil dreads a mother’s heart, So greatly will she dare; So fierce she is to evil, So armed she is in prayer; And Sister Mary Gregory Fights boldly'for her care. ’ If she should die before'them . And win her golden store, ' She’ll choose a heavenly mansion Well furnished for a score; And there they’ll find her waiting '0: Outside her open door. Winifred M. Letts, in the Irish Catholic.