ESSAYS IN VERSE.

Evening Post, Volume LXXXV, Issue 27, 1 February 1913, Page 13

ESSAYS IN VERSE.

THE CHARMED LIFE. Cried the Sword: "I ran it through With my bloody blade; But behold, it doo? not show That a tliriM was made." Cried the Fire, "I burned it black With devouring flame. And tho zealots piled the pyre, But 'tis now tho same." Cried the Bomb, "1 blew it Up With an anarch burst, • But it lived when J was done, Scatheless as at first." Then it was that Weapons knew They in vain were wrought • Naught on earth can kill a Thought But another Thought. — M'Landburgh Wilson. New York Sun. IN DEVON. There's a. little spot I'nf knowing In red Devon, by the sea, With the tangled dogrose blowing And the white thorn flowering free; And the larks above are singing, And I think no birds there be Like the bird? that eing in Devon, In red Devon, by the sea. There's a little maid I'm knowing In red Devon, by the sea, When the wild, wet winds are blowing She puts up a prayer for me ; 0 ! she's swept as summer roses, And I think no maid there be Like my maid, that dwells in Devon, In red Devon, by the sea. — Lina Jephson. Westminster. EVENING— IRISH COAST. Towards the Uncertain mist-enshrouded bar The golden day at length grows dim and dies; Sombre and still the little hamjet lies, And muffled all the quayside voices are. Leeward, the mountains veil themselves, and far Across the sea a lonely curlew cries ; While from the whispering altar of the fikies There shoots the first faint glimmer of a star. And yonder in the solitary bay, While all around him Nature holds her breath, A little child is busy at his play, And heeds not what) the awful silence saith. Careless, he still pursues his merry way, And reckon* not with 6uch a thing as death ! —Gilbert Thomas. Pall Mall Gazette. THE VICTOR, Love came wooing Love came suing, All aglow, Plumes aflying, Rapture crying, Top to too ! • Tell me truly, Heart unruly, Why so cold ? ' Here is pleasure Without measure For your hold ! Love left, weeping That his leaping Had been vairt^ Slow and weary, Pale and dreary, Wan with pain. Answer truly, Heart unruly, Why, at last, Did you press him, Did you bless him, As he passed? — Leolyn Louise Everett. N.Y. Life. CONVERSION. 1 had not thought to woo her, but her eyes Were soft as moonlight on a summer eea ; And, sweet as stolen fruit from Paradise, Love came and whispered me. I had not hoped that she could know; but Day Dawned, and Night of Silence reigned no more. So souls once dormant in familiar clay Wake on an unknown shore. I had but dared to love-; and, like the roll Of thunder -rousing thunder o'er the eea, Her answering passion woke my soul To Immortality. — R.I.X. Sydney Mail. TIME HEALS ALL WOUNDS BUT ONE. Time heals all wounds but one 1 That, "hidden in the breast, Burns like a furnace or still smoulders on, And will not let the weary sufferer rest, Time heals all wounds but one ! Time heals all wounds but one ! The mother mourns her child, The warrior weeps above his stricken son, Soon all their heavy sorrow is beguiled. Time heals all wounds but one ! Time heah all wounds but one ! The summer blossoms pass, The gay companion, of the rose is gone, New glories glow upon the autumn grass. Time heals all wounds but one ! And ah ! that it would heal The woe that is my own, And from my wounded bosom softly_ steal The broken arrow-pointa sunk midway down, Ah ! Time, that it would heal ! Time heals all wounds but one, And will not brave the worst ; Hearts that are broken brokenly liv© on, And darken till the prison-fetter burst. Time heals all wounds but one ! —Alfred Williams. Westminster Gazette.