VERSES-OLD AND NEW.

Dominion, Volume 5, Issue 1449, 25 May 1912, Page 9

VERSES-OLD AND NEW.

THE SONG OF THE MANDOLIN. Hush! from out the cypress standing Black against,tho yellow moonlight What a thrill,'; what ..a, sob, what a sudden rapture flung A thwart ..tho dark! ; l'assion *of song! ..... Silence again, save mid tho whispering leaves, . Tha unquiet wind, that as the tido Cometh and. goeth Now one long thrillmg note, prolonged and sweet, And then a low, swift stir, A whirr of fluttering wings And, in the laurels near, two nested •nightingales! Loud, loiid, the mandolin, Tinkle-trink, tinkle-trink, tinkle-trinkle, ■ ; trink, . Trink,, trink, trinkle-trink! ■ ThrongK the fragrant silence it draweth near/' j - " ' . ■ Ah, the..low.cry, the little .laugh, the rustle: • Tinkle-tririk—hush! a kiss—tinkle-trink— hush, hush— ' . Tinkle-trink, tinkle-trink,- trinkle-tnnkle, trink! —William Sharp. GOD BE WITH THE DAYS. Now God be with tho days were long ' Spring'days when first the thorns were • , ■ clothed in white, And blackbirds sang of winter put to Young" shining April days when high and low Theyeilow gorse set hill and rath aglow. Still. Summer noons when hidden out of The'corncrakes shouted, and at fall of ■■ s night ' ■ The silent bats would flitter ,to and fro. •V Fine careless days when we so brave and young i Had sorra thought of winter and the '■ ■ cold, •• . '.V ■ Black bitter winds, ourselves grown weak V ■ and old; No heed .we took, -yet Autumn s hand 1 had. flung - ■ ■ Gold leaves, and red along the woodland walked. with us—God. be with/the. days.' ' _ _ ~ ' —W. M. Letts. . • DAWN AND LOSS. I„ lack thee in the noonday light, ■ I want thee'in the deep of night; ; But most, when sadder than all words, I: 1 hear the voice, of waking birds. ■ Then seem I. most of all forlorn, Whom I behold the day reborn; There is no mercy in that ray, On hopeless fancies comes the day. Then''is-the hollow world re-made, . God! but that' imago will not. fade ; That ghostly chorus' from the leavos A'-' Eeminds, and yet again bereaves. The widowing beam upon me falls, . And to a grey remembrance calls; Eebuilded • is the dismal loss - A.nd re-erected is the cross. " For in' that dimness we had speech, ■ Simple and prudent each to each; :■ Slow on my shoulder fell thy head, ; I held thee close as skies grew red. J 0 dear wert thou in" silent dew; Thrice dear in deepening of the blue; i But now I'see from this dark Toom ? Only the glimmer of' a tomb. j> —Stephen Phillips. IN A LABORATORY. Out in the woods the bluebells are, and the pale, little primrose flowers, , All the birds are mating again, and ji singing-for love and desire: j Out in the woods the thin green leaves ? are misty, about "tho'-lareheS, ■' ' And, even here, through my dusty panes, creeps in Spring's ancient fire. ~ Swift as an arrow my heart is away where the long, white, dusty roadways Over the breast of the Surrey Downs, clamber and dip and twist; Crucible, flask, and beaker fade, with their witch-like brew, into shadows, My eyes can see but the woods, and the hills, cool in the morning mist. I " could crush you all in the dust together, you've brought me hearti.; acho only, I; You exquisite symbols in copper and glass, of the Vision that called frtifa'^afaH' Yet you, and my delicate golden scales, with their endless, unsatisfied question, You hold me still, with your nameless charm, from my woqds, where th< bluebells are. —Thora Stowell. AS DEEP AS THE SEA. i You shall not know us, though you hold us fast, . We still are worlds beyond your thought and ken, 'And, though we flatter and defer, yet, to ' • the last, We hold our own with you, who are but , men. - You think you've tamed us, when we're far too wise To quibble at your petty bonds and vows, ' Reserving still one secret from your eyes, 'Tea, though we live within your little house, ■ And in your arms are fettered and held fast, We are the rulers still, your whole lives through, From Eve, the first of us, to Eve the last. And, to the end, still shall we be to you. Deep as the"sea",' wide worlds beyond youi ken— ■L We'll hold'6ur own with you, who art but men! - —'Thora Stowell.