SILVER BIRCHES.
(To M. 0.) The fire-god with his flaming brand Has passed this way and worked his will, And still the silver birches stand, A ghostly huddle on the hill. But wraiths of birches, tempest-blown, Yet all their glory is not fled. I love them for the “beauty flown,” And will not think that they are dead. . \ The flame has scorched, the gale has bent, The elements have had their will, ' let all their beauty is not spent, The silver lingers on the hill. When of our youth we are bereft, We love, I heard a woman say, The chastened beauty that is left When time has worn the bloom away. i 8.L.T.” in Motley Measures.
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New Zealand Tablet, 18 August 1921, Page 37
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117SILVER BIRCHES. New Zealand Tablet, 18 August 1921, Page 37
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