Poetry

Waikato Times, Volume XXXI, Issue 2504, 28 July 1888, Page 5 (Supplement)

Poetry

MY SNOW IMAGE. I. I raised an image when the snow lay white — An imago fair, with eyes that sparkled bright, 4k And form that shone serenely through the night. The frost was bitter, and the tempest blew So keen it pierced the foreat through and through ; Yet still my figure stood, and stronger grew. At last tho breeze blew mild, and sunshine shono, When 10, I looked !-my image fair was gone— Dead ashes for its feet, its heart a. stone. 0 sorrow, was the lesson told in vain ? Methonght that if I built from eare and pain An image bright, some glory would remain. 11. Ere long the year to riper fulnese grow ; Glad swallows through the sunny copses flew, . . And where the image stood bright daisies blew. All gone the icy stillness and the snow ; 1 wandered throuzh the dewy meads, and lo! Like thawing streams I felt my life-blood flow. 0 snowy image, did I sigh for thee ? The May blooms hung in garlands from the tree, And golden king cups dappled hill and lea. No more of ice my handiwork shall rise, But weaved of sunny light from earth and skies, And gleaming gathered in my grateful eyes. No more of eold contentment or despair. But steadfast Hope, whose breath shall be a prayer, And Love, whose light shall show that life is fair. —Chamber's Journal. A YEAR AGO. Jusr a little year ago, You were all to me ; Even yet, I scarcely know How such things can be. Did you mean it all the time ? Were you false or true ? Is it change of place or clime That has altered you 1 Did you think to love mo still? Did your fancy stray ? Did you change against your will, When you went away ? Do you still remember this, Many miles apart ? Ah ! you left your careless kiss Printed on my heart. Little did my soul divine That the year would see Your dear heart, close knit to mine, Drift away from me. Yet I dream you brave and true ; Through the mists of pain. Still I stretch my hands to you Till we meet again. Just a little year ago ! Ah ! my eyes are wet ! Cruel love ! do you not know I can ne'er forget ? —Chambers' Journal.