Poetry.

Waikato Times, Volume XXXIII, Issue 2692, 12 October 1889, Page 5 (Supplement)

Poetry.

blue eoses. Alas, poor heart! Your goldon dream if ended, You cannot bear your burden of defeat; To such despair that fruitless quest has tended That in Life's radiant morning seemed so sweet. You paused not, though the way grew rough and sterile, Lulled by tho hope that lured you from repose, . But all in vain have been your pain and peril; You cannot find your beautiful blue rose." Say, was it Fame you sought? Some grand ideal Your toil must reach whatever might befal ? . But when you grasped it, it was false, And not the thing you longed for after all. For when at last the laurel loaves had bound yon, They clung a crown of thorns about your head, , Men's praises fell like dust and ashes round you, For those you loved and laboured for were dead ! Or was it Love you craved for, strong, undying, Or Friendship without selfish stain or brand. Until it seemed the azure blooms were lying So near that you could reach them with your hand? Oh, then, what more than mortal anguish wrung you When Fate seemed smiling, and the world seemed fair, Yet, lurking 'mid tho flowers, a serpent stung you, And all your treasuro vanished into air ! So wags the world, and so runs many a story; Few lives but clutch at some delusive prize, Until their idol, stripped of all its glory, A piece of gilded earth before them lies. Love that is perfect, faith that presupposes ; No fear nor doubt; joy without stint or leaven— Ah, not on earth can bloom those fair "blue roses," But one day we shall find thorn all in Heaven ! —T. Ferguson. FOE DAYS THAT AEE TO BE. Feast now thine eyes oil this surpassing view Of mountain, shore and sea ; Drink deep the woodland air, tho elysian blup, For days that are to be. Paint on the inner chambers of thy brain The winged and glittering bay ; Learn the near ocean's slumberous refrain, Calliug, Away! away !"' Not for this day alone of Nature's cup Hast thou iu transport quaffed ; Far hence thy spirit shall be lifted up By this one perfect draught. And t'irosigh a golden haze in years to come, When the long summons burn, And in the rainless hills tho brooks aro dumb, The glory will retnrn. Then thou shalt hear the coo! sea billows break, Across the harbour bar, And the blue tipple fiom the mountain lake Shall glisten froin afar. For this is Nature's largess : colour, tone, Splendor of land or sea, All that she onco revehls, becomes thine own For days that are to bo. —Francis I M.\ok. in Harper's Magazine.