STRAY VERSE.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXIX, Issue 3392, 7 December 1911, Page 7

STRAY VERSE.

Once, in moonlight pale, I stood; In tire shadow of tire wood, And the fairies came advancing Through the flickering shadows glanc-

ing ’Tween the leaf-laced lattice spreading Like an archway overhead; Like an archway overhead; Rainbow hues gleamed in their dresses, Pearls and opals in their tresses. Oil, the flying fairy feet, Perfumed breath of gum-flowers sweet, And my wish, gold-winged and fleet.

Ah', my whispered wish came true — For little love, I wished for you—l wished for you.

Now, as evening shadows fall, I hear the lonely, lonely call Of a curlew in the rushes ; On my cheek a grey moth brushes. As the purple dusk of night Steals around with pale starlight; And the fairy feet aquiver. Dance no more beside the river But a fragrant memory Clings in gum-flowers, aye, for me; Scented memories of thee. And the wish I whispered low, 0 little love, so long ago—so long ago. —Queenio Hallomn. “Sydney Mail.” OUR LADY OF THE DUSK. Within my garden hot and dry A tardy guest with sandalled feet Has brushed the drooping roses by, And flung to me their fragrance sweet.

Her trailing gown of misty grey Beneath the trees I’ve dimly seen; The meadow grosses swing and sway To show me where her path has been

With healing touch, each leaf and flower

She blesses on her silent way: Our Lady of the Twilight Hour Cooling the footprints of the Day! —Muriel G. E. Harris “Westminster Gazette. ’’

A FAIR FLORENTINE

She hath eyes that shame the night, Deep and mystic, dark with doom, Rich in thought alive with light When the passion flowers bloom. And her lips are scarlet red, Mute, and motionless, and calm, Till a score of kisses shed Love’s elexir on their halm. Soft and silky is her breast. Tranquil as a vergin rose, Now to touch in wild unrest. Like an ocean ini its throes. Bella, Bella, Graziella, Queen where Arno's river flows.

Sire hath, locks of darkest dark, Brow of snow, and lace of fire; Timeless is the singing lark When she strikes her silver lyre; Arno's spe-ech. is not. as sweet As the music of her voice When she runs to meet and greet The Bernardo of her choice. Myrrh and oleander dells Blom with beauties rare to see; Yet within their shadow dwells Not a fairer nymph than she; Bella, Bella, Graziella, Heart and Heaven throb for thee

Florence hath more stately dames Garbed in silk and decked with lace But they lack the living flames Sweeping o’er her cherub face. Plain-robed lassies often are. Each a more bewitching prize Than the blue-veined proudest star Gleaming from palatial skies. Vive Bacco! Tap the cask 1 We will drink this health of thine With a bumper from a flask Of the middy Tuscan wine. Bella, Bella, Graziella, Maid of maidens, Florentine! . —Eugene Dams.

THE COMING OF APRIL. I heard the feet of April straying down a sunny glade, Through the beeches’ gray-bougheci reaches, gipsy maid; Soft as springtime raindrops falling, Clear as nightwood shoreward calling, Stirred the steps of April straying, gone a-Maying down tlie glaue.

I saw her silver lantern lifting throngn the evening haze, .Shadow-lancing, silver-glancing, through the spring-sweet ways; Smoke-wreaths, light as sprirttgime dreaming, O’er her flower-decked shoulder streaming, From her lantern, fragrant drifting, vagrant shifting through the haze.

Those who meet her, woodland-wing-ing through the wind-stirred grass, Stars burned brighter. hearts Mere lighter, as they watched her pass; Morning skies were clearer, bluer, Hopes were surer, vows were timer, For the magic of her singing, blossombringing gipsy lass. —Martha Haskell Clark. ! ‘Metropolitan Magazine.”

BIG DREAMS COME. When you pitch your camp on the tim-ber-line, Where the air is strong with the sap of pine. , When the fire is lit, and the flamee On the resin’logs, and the gun-locks glance With, spurts of flame. "When you make your bed On cedar tassels, with overhead Paternal firs that rear upright To spear the diamond-dusted night. Against the stars one dimly sees Spiked peaks, like silvery teepees. When the hush has come and the soul is ripe, Then roll in your blankets and light your pipe. When the noise of man and his towns is dumb, • ’Tie then, ’tis then, that the . Big Dreams come! —Crosbie Garstin. “Westminster Gazette.”