Poetry.

Poverty Bay Standard, Volume X, Issue 1175, 14 October 1882, Page 3 (Supplement)

Poetry.

A PARTING SONG. BY JULIA H. THAYER All chilling winds have sunk to rest, The pennons of the mist are furled, While Nature stands knee deep in flowers And swings her censer o’er the world. , And here we pause amid the calm To look on hillsides we have sown, Where all the gathered light of years Seems in a mass of glory thrown. We do not see the long, brown rows In which we toiled with weary feet; We only see their springing green, And yonder resting places sweet. O days that placed upon our brows The bloom of fadeless diadems, Your dreams we wear upon our hearts, As titled ones wear royal gems. Across the paths that we must tread, To-morrow’s fickle beams will play ; But safe for evermore we hold The changeless light of yesterday. We cannot wander in the gloom So far but that we still may see, Whene’er we turn, one golden light Kissed by the Sun of Memory. —Chicago Tribune COME BACK. Vain words; they fall upon unheeding ears; He passes on amid the busy crowd, Yet fain would turn at that appealing call; But no ! he passes on erect and proud. He longs to turn, and kiss away the tears That stole down her fair cheeks, his six month’s bride. But she was in the wrong, why should he turn, Until the evening brings him to her side? Until the evening, but the day seems long; How gladly he will take the homeward track, For all the day, above the din and noise, He hears her sweet voice softly say, “Come back I” Pale cheeks, with white lids gently folded down O’er eyes that never more will vainly weep; A half smile lingers round the silent lips, And all is perfect in that dreamless sleep. And stunned he site beside the still, white form; He cannot realise that she is dead, And lovingly he calls her by her name, And touches tenderly the golden head. Her voice will call in vain to him no more, Although lie ever hears its pleading tone, In the bright day, and in the silent night, He hears her voice, yet always is alone.