VARIOUS VERSES.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXIX, Issue 8366, 23 February 1907, Page 3

VARIOUS VERSES.

IN PROGRESS. (A parody revived and brought up to date). She wore determination The moment that we met; Her burst of indignation Proclaimed the Suffragette. Her eyes possessed a brightness— Her words a ringing tone— The tokens of a woman's wish To call a vote her own. I saw her in the Lobby, And methinks I see her now, With that grim determination Upon her classic brow. A different appearance, When next I looked, she wore; She seemed to be contending With someone on the floor; And standing by her side was one Who tried, though all in vain, To make her quit that blessed spot And from her noise refrain. I saw her but a moment, But methinks I see her now, With her hat a little sideways Upon her chisell'd brow. And once again I see that face: No hat at all is there, A heavy hand has rumpled : That wealth of braided hair. She shrieks in angry protest, But impotent each cry — A strident voice says, "Come along!"— A voice she can't defy. She vanishes completely, Yet methinks I see her now, In the arms of stern policemen"For kicking up a row."

FOR MOTHER. 1 chose a gift for mother, rich gold and rarest gems, The beauty in her kindly eyes look'd down and humbl'd them; And had they been God's golden stars close-woven in a crown, They might have lost their lustre still when those dear eyes look'd down, I twin'd ■ a wreath for mother—the best of summer flowers, White lilies and white roses, the pride of garden bowers. Their petals were no purer than her white hands pure and sweet, And the flowers were only fitted as a pathway for her feet. Then I wrote a song for motherthere was love in every line, And never rung such music yet in any song of mine; But the words were all unworthy, though the words were good and . true, So I left the song unfinished, and I tore the page in two. And the richest I could fashion, and the fairest I could twine, Was fit for no man's mother, and so much less fit for mine! But I trust at last in heaven, God will wreathe her with His light, And the angels sing the verses that will praise her worth aright. —Will H. Ogilvie in Chambers' Journal.

WHEN LOVE YAWNS. When once Love yawns, kiss your hand to him for ever. Not any lovely shepherdess or shepherd of the plain Can hold him with old merriment, with new repining never; Not all your mirth nor all your tears may bid him back again. Kiss your hand and go your way—never parting bolder; What is done is done, my dear, foxroses or for rue. Yet, and yet, look back just once, so —across your shoulder— Who knows but he may turn and laugh and reach his hands to you, —Theodpsia Garrispn. {" THE WORLD. The world's a bubble, and the life of man Less than a span; In his conception wretched, from the Womb, So to the tomb; Cursed from his cradle, and brought up to years . With cares and fears. Who, then, to frail mortality shall trust, But limns oh water, or but writes in dust. Yet whilst with sorrow here we live oppressed, What life is best? Courts are but only superficial schools To dandle fools; » The rural parts are turned into a den Of savage men; And where's a city from foul vice so free, But may be termed the worst of all the three? Domestic cares afflict the husband's bed, Or pains his heard; Those that live single, take it for a curse, Or do things worse; Some would have children; those that have them' moan Or with them gone; What is it, then, to have or have no wife, But single thraldom or a double strife? Our own affection still at home to please ' Is a disease; To cross the seas to any foreign soil, Peril and toil; Wars with their noise affright us; when they cease. We are worse in peace — What, then, remains but that we still should cry For being born, or, being born, to die?