ORIGINAL POETRY.

New Zealander, Volume 9, Issue 802, 21 December 1853, Page 3

ORIGINAL POETRY.

THE TIME OF MAKING HAY The year is in its golden prime The winter is away, There’s fragrance from wild flower and thyme There's gladness in the day ; It is the merry summer time The time of making hay! The children love those sunny hours— The children young, and gay: Some where the growing haystack towers, Some in the mower’s way, Fairest of all their fairy dowers The time of making hay! See how each laughing elf they smother And never tire or stay, Down goes another, and another In their exhuberant play— Oh ! happy time above all other The time of making hay ! But soon those childish hours are past More soon than we can say, And we have toyed, and romped our last As children must; and may ; The maiden’s dreams are dark’ning fast The time of making hay! She sits upon the rustic seat But far her fancies stray, Amongst imaginings rare and sweet, And hopes more bright than they She listens to her hearts soft beat In place of making hay! Yet when our first flushed youth is set In one calm after day, 'Tis strange how long, and oft we let Old feelings have their way. How it can charm, and soften yet The time of making hay ! St. George. Auckland, Dec. 1853.