POETS' CORNER.

Sun (Auckland), Volume 1, Issue 115, 5 August 1927, Page 14

POETS' CORNER.

SPORT. t Written for The Sun) The grey swamp has its gleams of light, A wintry beauty made ±Sy the last red leaves of blackberries, And rushes green as jade. The echoes of the sportsmen’s guns, Voices, and feet have passed; This lonely haunt of water-fowl Is still again at last. The pools among the rushes shine. Mirrors of steel they are, Holding the whiteness of the sky, And pierced by one pale star. To-night a glaze of frost will creep Along the water’s edge, Where the wild drake, with burnished neck, Lies hidden in the sedge. , He watched his mates in arrow line Vanish into the night, Lifting an unavailing wing, Bloody and limp, for Bight. Deserted, silent, fated thing! To-morrow his bright eye Shall watch the sailing scanning hawk Stoop from the noon-bright sky. ALICE A. KENNY. Paeroa. MAGNIFICAT. [Written for The Sun. J Dearest, I dreamt that you and I had died. Like Rupert Brooke (immortal, ever young!) We climbed the stairs of Heaven to And the Lord. At last .... Flashed on our view no Great White Throne, No didactic God, no Heavenly Bride, But a Cathedral. We heard Vespers sung: Grand line into grand mass aspiring soared. There, every beauty that the heart had known: The priest coped in a robe from some angel loom: Faint incense burned: two tall candles shone Just for sheer beauty. The organ spoke, and we Heard music like a cherry-orchard in bloom. I whispered “Where is God?” The anthem on The choral air rang out, Stanford in G. GEOFFREY DE MONTALK. Christchurch. 10 p.m. Third Sunday after Trinity, 1927. VENUS AND THE MORNING. [Written for The Sun.] Sweet Grey-of-the-morning, Sweet Grey-of-the-morning, The tip of the moon has set over the hill, And the gold lip of Venus has drunk to her All Of the milky-blue-grey Of the smile of the day. She fades away, fades away, fades away, to . The Grey-of-the-morning. PETER BROOKE. London. 1926.