ESSAYS IN VERSE.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXVIII, Issue 2764, 19 March 1910, Page 4 (Supplement)

ESSAYS IN VERSE.

A MIDSUMMER SONG. 0, father’s gone to market-town, he* was up before tho day. And Jamie’s after robins, and the man is making hay. And whistling down the hollow goes the boy that minds the mill. While mother from the kitchen door is calling with a will : “Polly ! —'Polly ! —The cows are m the corn! 0, where’s Polly?” From all the misty morning air there comes a summer sound— A murmur as of waters from skies and trees and ground. The birds they sing upon the wing, the pigeons bill and coo, And over hill and hollow rings again the loud halloo: “Polly ! —Polly !—The cows are in the corn 1 O. where’s Polly?” Above the trees the honey-bees swarm •by with buzz and boom, And in the field and garden a thousand blossoms bloom. "Within the farmer’s meadow a browneyed daisy blows. And down at the edge of the hollow a red and thorny rose. But—Polly ! —Polly !—The cows are in the corn I O, where’s Polly ?

•How strange at such a time of day the mill should st-op its clatter! The farmer’s wife is listening now, and wonders what’s the matter. 0, wild the birds are singing in the wood and on the hill, While whistling up the hollow goes the boy that .minds the mill. But—Polly ! —Polly I —The cows are in the corn ! 0, where’s Polly? Richard Watson Gilder. THE MAGICIANS. What do we care for sunny or wintry weather, Comrades of .mine, fair-printed, and bound in leather? Tempests may come, and thunders may crash and clatter, Snows may descend and cover the flowers —what matter? We make our own fair days when we get together. Answer me, Burns! Does this black frost blight year heather? Answer me. Keats 1 Does your nightingale moult a feather? Winter, forsooth We speak, and the robins chatter! What do we care? Comrades of mine, whose spirits death could not tether — Vo are as gods, whose (power is constant, whether Rain falls or snow. You sing, and the little clouds scatter: One little song, and I hear the spring rains patter. You in the upper world, and I in the nether —. What do wc care ? —Cleveland Loader.