RAIN

Sun (Auckland), Volume IV, Issue 1013, 2 July 1930, Page 14

RAIN

FIRST-PRIZE POEM Because you love the rain, I sing this song Of open spaces where the wind goes free; Of wild, wet hillsides where the grass is long, Where gleaming drops of ram hang Beautiful things, the leaves that toss their way Through golden drifts, piled in a rain-wet lane, And so, to the pale sky of the Autumn day, I sing this song—because you love the rain. O to be out when the grey wind goes by, Whipping the keen rain in your eager face, To feel the slap and sting as it whirls high, AAvuy till the hulk of the hills stops its wild pace. And then at last when all the world is still To kneel and watch the harvest moon peer through, A golden lantern hanging from the hill — A Avild barbaric splash against the blue. A song of shadows, velvet-soft and cool, I sing to you, who love tho silent night, Of drifting ripples on a dreaming pool. Breathing a magic to the starlit height. You love wet hillsides, where the grass is long. And tranquil nights when the sky clears again. And so, my dear, I sing for you this song Because you love the rain. —Harvest Moon (Alma Chamberlain). COMPENSATION SECOND-PRIZE POEM I pitied you at first, because your eyes Though knowing once this coloured world’s delight, The dawn and sunset in the lovely skies, Now know but blank, impenetrable night. I pitied you because you could not see Each bushland nook, each little, lovely place; And yet I wondered at your gaiety, The happiness which shone upon your face. And then you took your violin and played, Almost as masters play, with touch and tone That set the music’s soul, rich, unafraid, Throbbing in swift accordance with your own. You told of life and death, and something more, That dwells beyond the ken of mortal life; And then you told of bitterness and Of greater peace and resting after strife.

Upon four quivering strings you laid the song Of wind among a ruffled field of grass; Your music told of golden days and long, Of evenings when grey velvet shadows pass. You told of wonders deep within your soul, Of love and laughter, happiness and light; And I, who listened, shaken, knotv you Far better than we see, who have our sight. —Red Star (Jean Mclndoe). THE OWL | The moon, alone in majestic glory. Threads her way through her maze of stars; * High in tho crooning pines, Gazing unblinking, sits an owl. He sees the soft fall of night’s velvet cloak. Hears the birds’ low twitterings cease As, flying into the night, his people go. Soft, sweet fairy music drifts Gently to him as he sits unstirring; From afar come crickets’ chirps And nearer, a tumbling stream’s murmuring. Soon, soon, he, too, takes flight In his silent way, winging through dark trees Until, when the shy daAvn is wavering. He folds his wings and after his journey rests. —Maid of the Pines (Beryl Cranston). FOR WISE HEADS Word Square:— U . 1. —To lend. ;V, 2. —At one time. 3. —The highest point. 4. —Want. Word Diamond: 1. —The beginning of any. 2. —A number. 3. —lrate. 4. —Before. 5. —The end of any. Answer to last week’s word square: Patch. Adore. Toper. Creed. Herds. Word Diamond: S. Ate. Stoke. Eke. E. FROM A FIRESIDE LETTER It has been very lovely today, and I have been miles and miles into the hills. We started early; the ground was white with frost; the sun, newly risen, was pale and cold, while the wind was a shrill, icy breath. We came home when twilight, in purpling shadows, dappled the hills, and the new moon swung like a silver wraith over tho pines. Now the stars are all aglitter, and the wind is still. The fire crackles and curls sleepily over the bricks, and I am sleepy as the flames. Flying Cloud*