Select Poetry.

Thames Star, Volume XII, Issue 3784, 12 February 1881, Page 1

Select Poetry.

IN TOWN.

I hare a friend across the street, We never yet exchanged a word, Yet dear to me his accents sweet, I am a woman—he a bird.

And here we twain in exile dwell, Far from our native woods and skies, And dewy lawns with healthful smell, Where daisies lift their laughing eyes.

Never again from mosß-built nest, Shall the caged woodlark blithely aosr ; Never again the heath be pressed, By foot of mine for evermore.

Yet from that feathered, quivering throat, A blessing wings across to me ; No thrall can hold that mellow note, Or quench its dame in slavery.

When morning dawns in holy oalm, And each true heart to worship calls, Mine is the prayer, but his the psalm, That floats about our prison walls.

And as behind the thwarting wires The captive creature throbs and sings, With him my mounting soul aspirea, On music's strong and cleaving wings.

My chains fall off, the prison gates Fly open, as with magic key; And far from life's perplexing straits, My spirit wanders, swift and free.

Back to the heather, breathing deep The fragrance of the mountain breeze, I hear the winds melodious sweep Through tossing boughs of ancient traei.

Beneath a porch where roses climb, I stand as I was used to stand, Where cattle bells with dowsy chime Make music in the quiet land.

Fast fades the dream in distance dim, Tears rouse me with a sudden shock; Lo ! at my door, erect and trim, The postman gives his double knock.

And a great city's lumbering noise Arises with confusin? hum. And whistling shrill of butchers' boys; My day begins, my bird is dumb. —Temple Bar.