SELECTED VERSE

Waikato Times, Volume 124, Issue 20728, 11 February 1939, Page 15 (Supplement)

SELECTED VERSE

THANKSGIVING

The schoolbooks do not tell it, but be sure There were some who, as they plucked the outlandish birds, The turkeys, even as they breathed the pure Bright wilderness air, and heard the measured words Of praise, looked back to familiar things, and dear. The way was chosen; they did not x go weeping and sighing, But they may have taken secret comfort in tying A pudding up as they had at home; and here In a land of sun, of brilliant autumn weather, They must have loved the misty, pale days best. Yet between the past and a future all unguessed They paused to offer honest thanks together— Not lightly, not blindly nor always with voice unshaken— For this new life, this path that they had taken. —Anita Laurie Cushing. WEAVERS IN THE WINTER Across the fields where summer left Her memories in bloom And wove a glowing tapestry Upon a shining loom, The winter weaves of samite white A hidden tale of old In moonlight’s silver, in the blue Of starlit twilights cold. The weaves of the frost arc true— No secrets are revealed Of winter’s magic fashioning In lonely vale and field. But underneath the samite’s peace The dark looms gaily swing Wenvtng the beauty that becomes The tapestry of spring! —Arthur Wallace Peach.

SNOW ARCHITECT

Weed stems are changed to leaning crystal towers, And feathery bridges, spread like white wings, span The jewelled gorges delicate with flowers Of starry dust—Whoever drew this plan whimsy flight—these fragile spires, These fairy eaves like petals half uncurled, These arches winking as with hidden fires, Shaped this white moment for a little world. It cannot stay—already towers fall Before the wind; a sudden puff of snow Marks crumbling bridge and spire and sagging wall— And we have paused, where only dreams may go, Remembering how age to age has shown borne hushed white moments that the world must own. —Glenn Ward Dresbach. EXPECTANCY There will be another rose On the briar rose tree; When the summer comes again There will be another rose For our eyes to see. There will be another song In the coming year; When the nightingale returns There will be another song For our ears to hear. —Helen Juliet Wright. THE CALM SEA This is the acreless acreage, Bearing no visible yield. This is a fallow field, Fenced by the sand and ledge, Barren of root and weed and nourishing no seed. But here is another green Deeper than the waving grain: Here is the growth of wind, And all things scaled and finned. —Robert Wistrand.