Poetry. TO HELENE'S PORTRAIT.

Waikato Times, Volume XXVIII, Issue 2322, 28 May 1887, Page 1 (Supplement)

Poetry. TO HELENE'S PORTRAIT.

I sit and gaze on thy portrait, While without the driving rain Is hurled by the furious blasts that beat Against my window-pane. And the scent of the purplo violet Thou lov'dst in the long ago, Comes—wafted across the interspaceIn the firelight's throbbing glow. A welcome guest, thou sittest to-night In the quaint, carved, old arm-chair — The ghost of each flame, with flickering light, Trembling upon thy hair. The smile, erstwhile of gladness, Lingers yet within thine eyes, But npw, methinks 'tis sadness In their pure depths hidden lies. The form grows dim—and betwixt us A shadow seemeth to come — And I stand, alone and cheerless, Within the darkening room— For a voice hath whispered to me, Froin the outer-circling night, That thou hast passed foreverForever from my sight. THE SONG IN THE NIGHT. A little bird sang in the dead of the night, When the moon peeped out through a cloud ; Hβ sang, for his heart was so full of delight, It seemed almost throbbing aloud. " Hush I'hush !" cried the old birds ; " you foolish young thing, To wake up and sing for the moon ! Come, 'tack your silly head under your wing ; ■■ • You'll rouse our good neighbours too soon." But the little bird flew to the top of the tree, And looked up into the sky. " Our time for singing is short," quoth he, "And sing in the night will I." Buckham, in St. Nicholas.