Poets' Corner

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 459, 14 September 1928, Page 14

Poets' Corner

■ THE CHILD iWritten for The Sun.] A face has haunted me to-night, Not for any sorrow nor aught Written th-rein by joy or pain Or lonely radiance of thought — A child's face, pressed against the arm Of one who wore a tattered dress, A woman, whose undreaming eyes Had learned no more than weariness. Old hands, brown Ungers, touched a face Soft as new petals; tired eyes Seemed scarce to see the iiny smile That still remembered paradise. No ways of destiny flamed before The tenderness of little feet; Only the furtive houses, crouched, Like panthers, in an evil street. Old eyes, old hands that only knew Bewilderment, wrong coldly done — They touched a face as soft in sleep As that of Mary’s little one. Feet naked for a wilderness! I knew why Christ of Heaven did please To dwell with burdened folk, and be Highway Himself for such as these. GROWING OLD IWritten for The Son.l This it is to be old, That I shall lose The gift of laughter at small and simple things; It ever old dreams By past me, the brush of wings, Damp with Elysian dews. Will seem strange and cold; I shall have naught but wondering pity for those That are all of loveliness now, the Same and the rose; I shall despise The sudden tears that music brings to the eyes. ROBIN HYDE. Wellington.