NEW ZEALAND VERSE.

Auckland Star, Volume LIX, Issue 231, 29 September 1928, Page 7 (Supplement)

NEW ZEALAND VERSE.

EARLY SPRING. The -misty showers drench the hills. The road is wet with mire; But rain-filled rats, and trickling rills, Flame all with rosy fire. It is the threshold of the spring, The long chill rains are done; High in the trees the thrushes sing, And redly sets the sun. Paeroa. —ALICE A. KENNY. MORNING SONG. (With apologies to Sarojinl Naidu.) From fields of France, Where poppies dance Amid the yellow corn, I send to you, Agleam with dew. s A little lovely morn. Outside, the breeze Which stirs your trees Is from a far-off hill, And laden yet With violet And scent of daffodil. Dear heart, awake! The day shall break As golden as the corn, Agleam with dew, I stole for you A little lovely morn. Wellington —MOLLY HOWDEN. RENOUNCEMENT. Your love has autumned, and I feel the chill Your glances give the ardour in my blood; I cannot spell the mystery of this mood, Altered, and held at the dictate of your will. Tho' tremulous yet my heart with aches that fill Eternities of thought, I stem the flood Of swift emotions; nor will I vainly brood On love decayed, which memory Time will kill. If you bo soon forget, then so will I, Who held your sweetness of no common worth, And deemed deceit could form no part of you; No longer can I care, no longer sigh For that which had to die its death; no dearth Of faithful love you'd found had you been true. Auckla'nd ■—R. M. CLE LAND. TELEPATHY. Over the boundless waters of the fathomless shoreless deep, On through the mighty silence of a throbbing world asleep, Into the mystic darkness of the cheerless, ' starless gloom I send my Soul —a captive in the chains of this mortal tomb — To meet your fettered earth-bound Soul and tell it of the fire That burns within this human breast—a latent dear desire — An adoration too divine for tongues or song or art, A silent Symphony of Love that flll» my beating heart. I «ee you gaze enraptured on beauty, everywhere, You know not that the Soul of Me has left its essence there. I see you pluck a blood red rose and kiss it—half in play— You know not it Is telling you all I can never say! Within this frail environment of length and breadth and height, How can you reach the thought waves I send on wings of light? But in some Fourth Dimension of that Promised Spirit Land, I'll send my Soul to meet your Soul—and you will understand. —JOYCE MILLAB.

THE HAUNTER. I came to where the Daisies grew, And Violet and Pimpernel, And sat beside the racing stream. Where once I used to come and dream, And faU beneath the dark wood speU And you. But though I waited till the moon Had stained the shades still deeper blue, I would not go. But lingered yet To see if souls learn to forget The same as careless mortals ao, And then so soon. Auckland. •—A. EATHAWAY.