Select Poetry.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 227, 15 January 1876, Page 3

Select Poetry.

NO TIDINGS. By Jank C. Simpson. " No tidings," she said, " of my love to-day." And her face wore a gentle sorrow ; " But why should I chide at the brief delay? The tidings will come to-morrow." " No tidings." she said, when the morrow came, And her voice had a tearful quiver ; Yet thought of distrust, of wrong, or blame, .Entered her brave heart never. " No tidings," she said, as the months wore on, And her cheek was pale with weeping ; " "Would at my head there was laid a stone, And beneath I were soundly sleeping! " No tidings," she said, " of my love to-day— A year to-day since we parted ! The flowers are dying on bush and sprayWhy die not the broken-hearted ? " Hush ! tidings at last—He is gone before A. whisper has caught mine ear : He is waiting for me on the spirit-shore, While I linger idly here !" She laid her down like a child to rest, Life faded from lip and brow; They folded her hands on the marble breastNone waits for the other now. LOVE'S WHISPER. Go, heart of mine, and hasten to my love : Tell her I mourn throughout the slow, sad hours, And that I wander through forsaken bowers Like some disconsolate and widowed dove, Who, being once forsaken of her mate, Doth wander ever after desolate. Go heart of mine, and tremble in her breast; Tell her that I am like the winds that scour O'er hill and vale, that leafy woods deflower. And meadows many-hued, yet lind no rest, But making moan which never doth abate, Do wander up and down disconsolate. Go, heart of mine, and whisper in her ear That I am like a tree no longer green, Where Winter's barrenness may be foreseen In branch and bough, by Autumn's touch made sere ; And like the leaves which rough winds violate, The days from off my life drop desolate. And if that move her not, go, kiss each lip, And tell her that I can no longer live, Unless she come again to me and give Her sweet and ever-constant fellowship. And from her lips thou shalt not separate Until she swear to be compassionate. I WONDER WHY. I wonder why The white clouds stay up in the sky ! The birds light low that fly so fast; The downy thistle falls at last, But the fair clouds are always high. I wonder why I wonder how The little bird clings to it bough ! Sometimes at night when I awake And hear the tree tops moan and shake, I think, " How sleep the birdies now 1" I wonder how! I wonder why We leave the fair earth for the sky ! I wish that we may always stay : That the dear Lord may come some day, And make it heaven ! Yet we must die. I wonder why !