Selected Poetry

New Zealand Tablet, 13 October 1921, Page 24

Selected Poetry

Benedict XV. Sole voice of peace amidj the raging sea Of hate and slaughter! cries and counter-cries 'Of, stricken, bought and! sold humanity, Sole voice of truth ami* the storm of lies; Sole voice of love amid the roar of hate That sunders race from race and man from man When all the thoughtless world is desolate Solo king and seer the Law of God to scan; His Law thou meditating day and night, Unto a blind bewilder'd world dost speak, Unwearied, swerving never left or right, Blessing and blest, rock-steadfast, valant, meek —H. E. G. Rope, in Blackfriars. The Sundial (December) So many days the Sun has made no sign, Has veiled his face from his rapt worshipper, Who stands unconscious of the passing year, Remembering only moments, fierce", divine, When rays of glory pierced the heavens to shine Upon his face. Oh, what to him the whir Of Time's swift wings who listens for a stir Of wind to lift the veil before the shrine^? Years and the flux of years are nought to him Whose life is centred in the flux of light, Who stands whole days bathed in a splendid flame And waits long hours for the first dawning rim Above the earth, absorbed by day and night— Blest, victim of the Sun-god's mystic game. ¥/ "To One Who Would Remain Friends" What is this prate of friendship? Kings discrowned Go forth, not citizens but outlawed men. If lave has ceased to give a loyal sound, Let there at least be silence. Once again I go, proscribed, exiled, dominionless Out of your coasts, yet scorning to complain. I grudge not your allegiance nor my bliss, I yield the pleasure as I keep the pain. Rebellion's rights are limited though strong. The right to take gives not the right to give. Mine are the sole right and prerogative To give a title or forgive a wrong. This gift of friendship was not yours to bring. As I have lived in love I still will live •- Or die, if needs must, and without reprieve, Your lover yet, and kingdomless a king. —Wilfbed S. Blunt. ' «? » On a Dead Child Man proposes. God in His time disposes. And .so I wandered up to where you lay, A,little rose among the little roses, And no more dead than they. ■ It seemed your childish feet were tired of straying, You did not greet me from your flower-strewn bed, Yet still I knew that you were only playing—- , Playing at being dead. } ' I might have thought that \m\ were really sleeping, So quiet lay your eyelids to the sky, So still your hair, but surely you were peeping, And so I did not cry. God knows, and in His proper time disposes, And so I smiled and gently called your name, Added my rose to your sweet heap of roses, And left you to your game. - v ■V.y :v .; :">- ;'.'■;. liy?'X:\. ■ " ,'■**'' ' —Richard Middleton.

The Convict of Clonmel (From the Irish.) ■/ "H%w hard is fortune ; And vain my repining; The strong rope of fate For this young neck is twining! My strength is departed, My cheeks sunk and sallow, While I languish in chains In the gaol of Clonmala. "No boy of the village Was ever yet milder; /"I'd play with a child And my sport would be wilder; I'd dance without tiring From morning till even, And the goal-ball I'd strike To the light'ning of Heaven. '•'At my bed foot decaying My hurl bat is lying; Through the boys of the village My goal-ball is flying; My horse 'mong the neighbors Neglected may follow, x While I pine in my chains 3 In the gaol of Clonmala. "Next Sunday the patron At home will be keeping, And the young active hurlers The field will be sweeping; With the dance of fair maidens The evening they'll hallow, While this heart, once so gay, Shall be cold in Clonmala." -omened Gifts Pride not yourself, 0 palm-tree, That loftier you grow Than almond-trees and laurels, Whose green tops wave below The tempest is approaching, ■ And when the bolt shall smite, The foreheads least uplifted Are safest from its might. 0 rose flower, wax not haughty For hue and scent divine— Because in field and garden All others you outshine! Beauty and scent betoken . Misfortune to a flower, For hands- come to pluck you, And insects to devour. . 1 Sweet forest flute, wild songster 1 You preen your feathers fair, And jets of pearly music Pour forth upon the air, But grow not vain of warbling; Be silent, men may hear! \ Such trills, to birds that sing them, Bring nets and trappers near. Earth, envy not the Day Star From which your warmth is drawn— That scatters gold and purple At sunset and at dawn! Magnificence so mighty • From mighty torment flows; A conflagration's brightness Your light and life bestows. - "How dear you buy, 0 spirit, ~ Your aureole of flame! Your true offence is only That you nave wit and fame " • Salvador D,iaz Miron, in the Mexican Review.