VERSES OLD AND NEW.

Dominion, Volume 5, Issue 1342, 20 January 1912, Page 9

VERSES OLD AND NEW.

NOVEMBER SUNSETS. Tie sun's last rays with ruddy glow a T 8 5' n ? 0( ' " 10 larch-tips' mellow gold, And o'er the woodland paths bestow The flush of life 011 loaves that mould. Krst. evergreen, pines proudly tall, Alone grow darker to the view, As though disdaining leaves that fall, t|r envying their brighter hue. Aside disdain or enVy cast, Thou shapely'fir, thou stately pine! Though 'neath the Buuuuer breeze they t sigh. Or' scatter' 'neath the wintry blast, • They die that other leaves may shine, And only shine because they die. Francis Seymour -Stevonson, \in • the "Westminster Gazette." , GREY MOORS. CrTey moors, dark fells whore winter mists are falling,; i, Grey hills that'swocp towards grey ,sties away, • v > ■Where clear and wild- tho curlew's note ] comos calling"— • Ah, how I dream' of you. far, off today! iWhat tho' no blossom lights the rustbrown heather? 'What tho' so high no songbird lilts his lay ? dUemory still breathes of days all golden weather, Love's in each thought of you, grey moors, for aye. ■—Augusta Hancock, in the "Daily News." THE QUIET NIGHTS. (Unmindful of mvi low desert ' 'Who turns e'en to my hurt, | God sends mo grace.'; o'er and o'er, IMore than tho sands oa the seashore. VAmong the blessings Ho doth give ' |My starveling soul that sho may lire, I-praise Him for my nights He kept I. And all tho quiet sleep I slept, Since I .wa3 young, who now grow old; iPor all those nights of heat, of cold, jl slept tho sweet hour 3 through, nor heard, iEven the coil of the first bird. i Nights when tho darkness covered m« In a. great peaco like a great sea, iWith waves of sweetness, who should lie Wakeful for mino iniquity. Cool nights of fragrance, dripping sweet, After the .sultriness of heat, Amid grey meadows drenched with doirj Bweet wag the sleep my eyelids knew. —From "New Poems," by Catherine ! Tynan. UNTIL. Bo this is growth: To feol the solid globe, Dnm-ense, - immeasurable, shrink. To probo Tho sudden nothing, whero one felt secure. This breathless, ceaseless bracing to endure. So this is life: This rolling of tho ball 'Under one's feet. This nerve-pray'r. not •. to fall, .To keep one's balance on the spinning ! earth, This ceaseless bracing all through mire and mirth, ■To stand, endure, to keep one's vision clear through all, this whirling dance of far and near. —Peter Nordon, in tho "Nation."