PIPES OF PAN.
[Written for The Sun.] I heard a sound as of an old larhent Upon the sorrows of a thousand dreams, Vanished forever as the desert streams * Of Araby’s wan sands; ind as 1 bent To listen on this hill of shattered rocks, A melody that wandered, as the wind Passed into nothingness, still left behind A sentience of music such as mocks The wanderer in the desert with its charm ; A song of love long told of long ago When Dryads wandered o’er that barren hill And danced around their altar arm in arm. . . . Gone are their trees and loves like summer snow: But round their haunts the music lingers still. B. Christchurch. THE COW. [Written for The Sun.] The cow Flicks her tail and now Licks her Hank. In bog-grass dank She stands in reverie , And whatever she May happen to Do She thinks it out. PETER BROOKE. Christchurch.
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https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/SUNAK19270827.2.196
Bibliographic details
Sun (Auckland), Volume I, Issue 134, 27 August 1927, Page 25
Word Count
153PIPES OF PAN. Sun (Auckland), Volume I, Issue 134, 27 August 1927, Page 25
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