Select Poetry.

Hawke's Bay Times, Volume 19, Issue 1286, 30 March 1872, Page 2

Select Poetry.

NEVER CONTENTED,

A young wife stood with her hand on the broom, And looked around the little room, " Nothing but toil for ever," she said, " From early morn till the light has fled. If you were only a merchant, uow, We need not live by the sweat of our brow." " Pegging away," spoke shoemaker John, "We ne'er sec Well what we're standing oa."

A My stood by her husbaud's chair, And quietly passed her hand o'er his hair. " You never have time for me now," she said,. And a tear-drop fell on, the low bent head \ " If we were only rich, my denr, With nothing to do from year to year But amuse each other—oh, dear me, What a happy woman I should be !" Looking up from his. ledger, spoke merchant John, " We ne'er see well what we're standing on."

A stately form, in velvet dressed, A diamond gleaming on her breast. " Nothing but toil for fashion," she said, "Till I sometimes wisii that I were dead. If I might cast this wealth aside, And once more be the poor man's bride I" From his easy ohair spoke gentleman John, "We ne'er see well what we're stauding on."