VARIOUS VERSE.

Taranaki Daily News, Volume L, Issue 60, 17 August 1907, Page 3

VARIOUS VERSE.

THE CAPTIVE BIRD. lSoautiful bird, with Hie crest of gold, Why not thy starry wings unfold? Why doth thy piping voice make moanIs not this gilded cage thine own?

All this gilded beauty I'd change with thee JnM for one dream of thy liberty ; Give me the forest—my native home, Or the bright blue skies o'er the billowing foam.

Skies are not always bright, sweet bird. Thunureing sounds from them often heard; Dark sounds the waves in their towering rage, stay; thou art best in thy gilded cage. thundering sounds have no fears for me— Oer the angry waves 1 would dance with ft ere thou, fair lady, in captive chains, Uouldst thou not sigh for thy honi" again ?

Yes, 1 am bound, sweet bird, like thcelaiund fast by conventiojialiTy; Cruelly the world, with an iron hand, Stretches its chains throughout tile land I hou, sweet captive,- shall pine ni moreSec, [ llm,, baek thy prison door; Spread forth thy wings— sweet bird, tlioi art free, but mine are bound fast till eternity. vr —Mrs Adolpli Goldwater. New Plymouth. "I WONDER THAT DAY." I wonder what (Jay of the week, I wonder what week of the year \\ ill it bo the midnight or morning And who will bend over my bior? What a hideous fancy to come, I wait, on the foot of the atair, While Eleanor gives the last touch To her robes or the rose in her hair. "Do I like your new dress, pompadour? And do I like you"—on my life, iou are eighteen and not a day more, And haven't been six years my wife.

'those two rosy boys upstairs, In the crib, are not ours! To be sure, You are the sweetest bride in her bloom, All sunshine, snowy and pure! As the carriage rolls down the dark street, The little wife laughs and makes cheer; But I wonder what day of the week! X wonder what day of the year! —Thomas Bailey Aldrich. IN THE CHILDREN'S HOSPITAL. Maybe it was her littleness, may be Because she looked so dumb and forlorn, But when, in that sad place, they showed to me The shy, small stranger, and I knew the morn

Must pass to noon, and noon give way to night, Bringing no promise of a better day; And she so meek, so grateful for the bight Of aught to drive her misery away:

Then with sacred pity my heart bled, And seemed rebuked for all its easy

years; Down on that pillow wee I bowed my head And cherished her; her tears became my tears. Richard Burton, in Harper's Magazine. 'TWERE BETTER TO FORGET. I remember, I remember The house where I was shorn, The little widow's house where we Played bridge till early morn; She. begged uie not to leave so soon— What could I do but stay? But now I kick myself because She'd such a. winning way. I remember, I remember, The glasses' tuneful clink, But I really can't remember Ilow much I had to drink; ilh love and wine my head was full That is so heavy now, And much cracked' ice 'twill take to cool The fever 011 my brow. I remember, I remember The roses, red and white 011 cheeks I thought 'twere Heaven to kiss And asked her if I might; It was a childish ignorance, But now 'tis little joy To know how much of truth was in Her answer—"Foolish" boy!" . •J. Adair Strawson, in Puck. WHAT ELSE ? ller lips were so near, That what else could I do? You'll be angry I fear, I But her lips were so near— Well I can't make it clear— Or explain it to yon. But her lips were so near— That—what else could I do? 1 —ilaxmilian Shalet.