The Poets' Place.

Horowhenua Chronicle, 15 July 1911, Page 4

The Poets' Place.

SOME GARNERED GEMS. THE OLD DAYS. (By Gordon Johnstone.) The old days, the cold days Of empty purse and pride. When all the world samg 'nc<it>h our feet, And 1 courage rodo beside; The cheer days, tho dear days, Tho days of stand or fall, Wilien fame upon the mountain, peaks Trilled out her bugle-call! Tho old days, tho bold days When fortiino had her fling, And every lass was princess fair, And every lad a king; Tho strong d-ays. the song days, Too haunting sweet to last; The do-and-dare, dievill-may-V.are Days a marching past! The old days, the gold days We lost in long ago, When hope rode forth in lancer red, With pennons flying .so; The grave days, tho hra.ve days That threw a .jest to painGod' give me back their battle .strength To lido and fight, again! A WARNNG TO POETS. Our poets must begin to tako More care about the rhymes they make, They'll li>nve to alter many things, When anyone can order wings. And if one wrote to .some fair maid: "Oh. fly with me, love," I'm afraid, She'd quite expect the gentle swain, To call round with an aeroplane! —Sheila E, Bra inc.

L'ENVOI. When Earth's last picture is painted and! the tubes are twisted and dried, When the oddest colours have faded, and the youngest critic has died ; We shall rest, and, faith, we shall need it—lie down for an aeon or two, Till the Master of All Good Workmen shall put us to work anew. And those that were good shall be happy; they shall sit in a golden chair; They shall -splash at a t-cn-lengne canvas with brushes of comet's lvair; They shall find real saints to draw from—Magdalene, Peter, and Paul; They shall work for an age at a sitting, and never be tired at all! And only the Master shall praise us, and only the Master shall blame; And no one shall work for money, and no one shall work lor fame, But each for the joy of the working. and each in his separate star, Shall d raw the Thing as he sees Tt, from tile God of Tilings as Thev Are!" —Rudyard Kipling.