Page 437 Advertisements Column 1

Hawke's Bay Times, Issue 1631, 24 November 1874, Page 437

RUBY. JOHN JAMES LONSDALE. I opened the leaves of a book last night, The dust on its cover lay dusk and brown, As I held it towards the waning light A withered fiow'ret fell rustling down ; 'Twas only the wraith of a woodland weed, Which a dear dear hand in the days of old Had placed 'twixt the pages she loved to read, At the time when my vows of love were told. And memories sweet, but as sad as sweet, Swift flooded mine eyes with regretful tears, When the dry, dim harebell skimmed past my feet, Recalling an hour from the vanished years. Once more I was watching her deep fringed eyes Bent over the Tasso upon her knee, And the fair face blushing with sweet surprise At the passionate pleading that broke from me. Oh, Ruby, my darling, the small white hand Which gathered the harebell was ne'er my own, But faded and passed to the far-off land, And I dreamt by the flickering flame alone! I gathered the flower and I closed the leaves, And I folded my hands in a silent prayer, That the reaper Death as he seeks his sheaves, Might hasten the hour of our meeting there.