Select Poetry.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 16, 13 May 1871, Page 18

Select Poetry.

THE DIAL. This is the place, as husht and dead As when I left it long ago ; Down the dark walks, with shadows spread, I wander slow. The tangled sunlight, cold and clear, Steals silvern thro’ the boughs around ; There is no warmth of summer here, No summer sound. Darnel and nettle as I pass Choke the dark ways, and in the bowers G-ather the weeds and the wild grass, Instead of flowers. O life! O time ! O days that die ! O days that live within the mind ! Here did we wander, she and I, Together twined. We passed out of the great broad walk, Out of the heated lawns we strayed ; We linger’d slow in tender talk Along the shade. And there the great old maze we found, And smiling entered it unseen : Half sad, half glad went round and round Through ■windings green. The evergreens around us gloom’d With broken gleams of silvern light, In the wild pleasaunee roses bloom’d, The red and white. O life ! O time ! 0 days that pass ! Sweet days that live while sad days go! Still, with shed petals on the grass, The roseß blow. Into the Maze’s heart we twain Stole linked on in pensive mood ; And there grass-stain’d and dark with rain The Dial stood. And near the Dial roses blew, And underneath the grass was deep, And all around the shadows grew As still as sleep. Afar away the world was still, Husht were the tumult and the cries : I stood there gazmg with no will Into her eyes. O life! O time ! O days that die! O days that live from year to year! We stood together, she and I, Here, here, and here. She pluekt a rose with tender care ; Brooding she panted o’er the flower : The sunlight toucht her golden hair, And marked the hour. Our hearts were hush’d, our spirits quell’d What recked we how the dial gleam’d ? I gazed into her eyes, she held The rose and dream’d. O life ! O time ! O days divine ! O dreams that keep the soul astir ! That hour eternity was mine, Looking at her. This is the place. I wander slow. Dark are the shades of shrub and tree, The Dial stands, the roses blow, But where is she ? O life ! O time! O buds and flowers! O withering leaves upon the bough ! I fear she measures not her hours With roses now. The Dial stands—the season goes— All changeth, nothing dieth, here—• Nay, all reneweth like a rose From year to year. The Dial stands —the dark days roll— From year to year the roses spring— Eternity is in my soul, Remembering.