Poetry.

Southern Cross, Volume 2, Issue 28, 6 October 1894, Page 5

Poetry.

THE LOST KISS. I put by the half-written poem, While the pen, idly trailed in my band, Writes on : “ Had I words to complete it, Who’d read it or who’d understand ?” But the little bare feet on the stairway. And the faint, smothered laugh in the hall, And the eerie-low lisp on the silence. Cry up to me oyer it all. So I gathered it up—where was broken The tear-faded thread of my theme, Telling how, as one night I sat writing, A fairy broke in on my dream ; A little inquisitive fairy— My Own little girl, with the gold Of the sun in her hair, and the dewy Blue eyes of the fairies of old. Twas the dear little girl I had scolded, “ For was it a moment like this,” I said, “ when she knew I was busy. To come romping in for a kiss ? Come rowdying up from her mother, And clamouring there at my knee For ’one ’ittle kiss for my dolly, And un ’ittle uzzer for me !’ ’ ’ God pity the heart that repelled her, And the cold hand that turned her away, And take from the lips that denied her This answerless prayer of to-day ! Take, Lord, from my mem’ry for ever That pitiful sob of despair, And the patter and trip of the little bare feet, And the one piercing cry on the stair! I put by the hlSlf-written poem, While the pen, idly trailed in my hand, Writes on : “ Had I words to complete it, Who’d read it, or who’d understand ?” But the little bare feet on the stairway. And the faint smothered laugh in the hall, And the eerie-low lisp on the silence, Cry up to me over it all. James Whitcombe Biley.