VERSES OLD AND NEW.

Dominion, Volume 2, Issue 609, 11 September 1909, Page 9

VERSES OLD AND NEW.

TO DORA. ! Xri • the. tinted dayspring of a London alley; Where tho melting'moonlight cools the sun- ' burnt lane, . ■ ■ . ■ Deep in tho flaro and tho coloured noise'of : ..'suburb^;; . 1 ; Long have'l sought you in tho shade and shino and rain! - Through' , dusky , byways rent with dancing naphthas, .' . Through , tho' : traffickedhighways ■ whero • .streets and streets collide, ; Through tlio evil twilight, tho night's' ghast ; .silence,''V.Xong, have .1 wandered and wondored wherS •. hide. 'X . - Toung ;lin to young ' lip, does another meet you ?. Has a lonely.pilgrim, When day.was stark and ■ - long, ' ' . .. Drawing ever slower'to the greyroitd's ending, Iteached a 6udden summer, of sun and flower and song? . • • - Has he "Seen in you the world's one: yearning, All the., seasons' message, the sky's sweet - play;' . -■ Head in you'at last the riddlo of tho heavens? ,'; Haveyou to, another been the dark's one ray? • Well;. if one has held you, and, holding you, ' beheld you, 1 y ■ Shining down upon him like a singlo star; If Love to lovo leans, even as the Juno, sky, .' ~Laughing down,to earth, leans strangely closij 'and far; Has he seen the moonlight mirrored in tho "■ bloomy.'■-•_/ * .- -V. ' Sudden-living gloom ; of. your dear dark hair, ..'And, seeing it, .has worshipped and. cried again for, heavenThen a:n I joyful for a firc-kissed prayer! —Thomas Burke, ,in- London "Nation."

AT THE GRAVE OF KEATS. I. ~ . - -. Where '. silver .'swathes J of'newly-fallen:-hay . . Fling up their';: incense to the Roman sun ; Where violets* spread their-dusky leaves' and : 'y " ; f ,rnn ; '; v'-, ' ,In a dim'ripple, and-a glittering bay ' -, VLifts nvorhead .his living wreath; where day w" Burns fierce,iupon his-endless night and none ■ ■ Can .whisper to him of tho thing he won,. - Love-starved.young. Keats :hath. cast;his gift : of clay. ■ * And still the littlo marble makes a moan ' ..Under the scented shade; one nightingale. With- many;a meek ..and. ' mourning monotone . Throbs.of "his sorrow;' sings how oft; men fail - * . And; leave : ;their .dearest .light-bringers alone ■ To shine UMeen and all-.unfriended-pale.. ;

IL ' Oh, leave the lyre - upon his humble stone, The xest : eraso; if; Keats' were come . again,; - The quickest, he, ■' to; blot -. this . cry of pain, - The first to; take ■ a sorrowing ■ world's atone. not tho high , magistral .way ' to l moan . When a .'mean present leaps and sweeps amain Athwart the prophets' visions; not one groan ■ Escapes their sftuls and- lingers not one stain. ' Thi-y answer .to their ideals; their good . Outshines,.all -flare and glare of futile marts. Thoy stand beside their altars while the flood Ephemeral rolls on and • roars and I parts. It shall hot-chill a poe£s golden blood; . It -cannot drown the masters' mighty hearts, jjpmu :; -; -- - , T-Eden Phillpotts. •

THE BROWN BURNS. '(- The brown' burns 'of - the Border, - ■ . They hasten down the-vale, . Id shallows through - the- sunlight, In spates beforo the gale. . Grey dawn and rosy sunset . - .Lie mirrored ,in their breast, - Who call. us forth, to labour, :;. V Who lead us home to reft. ■' -.' • - cool our knee-deep-cattle, , r ' . 'They-turn our. drowsy.-mills,- . - - ; They .bring to ns itho music . . r ':,: , ! > Of our: :blue eternal'hills. ?.; ■ - : count our crumbling arches, -; - . , fell our lichened■">toivers:v.; : !V . ... And .wake withsoft insistence V' .'Some ancient prido of ours. / Sweet with the scent of heather, :' , ' ; from the clasp of peat, ' ; Ihejr dance .to please our children, - Kissing their rosy feet. Ihey gmda our youths and maidens ' " r„. - n love-hag-bid- them-roaui-; "• - n7-J ca(l our tired fathers -• . ■ Along the last road '.home.: ' v .thought iof, whence they... gather, p ? 4.:; .f or love of where thoy wend, '> flowers they cherish - - that they befriend, " r " ;i V " hMi all soundselstf are silent, ' ' ti. Son ß 3 elso depart, ■■ '. - "f 0 ™ .burns of tho ■ Border, :. W. -.. sing within my heart. - •rWill H. Ogilvie, in the ."Glasgow' Horaldi"