We can never feel the freshness, never find again the mood Left among fair-featured places, brightened of our brotherhood. This and this we have to think of when the night is over all, When the woods begin to perish, and the rains begin to fall. SEPTEMBER IN AUSTRALIA GRAY Winter hath gone, like a wearisome guest, And, behold, for repayment, September comes in with the wind of the West And the Spring in her raiment ! The stories of Youth, of the burden of Time, And the death of Devotion, Come back with the wind, and are themes of the rhyme In the waves of the ocean. We, having a secret to others unknown, One word for her beauty, and one for the place She gave to the hours; And then we may kiss her, and suffer her face To sleep with the flowers. The ways of the frost have been filled of High places that knew of the gold and the In spots where the harp of the evening The gale, like a ghost, in the middle watch With the honey-voiced woman who beckons and stands, And gleams like a dream in his face- THE VOICE IN THE WILD OAK TWELVE years ago, when I could face High heaven's dome with different eyes, In days full-flowered with hours of grace, And nights not sad with sighs, I wrote a song in which I strove To shadow forth thy strain of woe, Dark widowed sister of the grove – Twelve wasted years ago. But youth was then too young to find But he who hears this autumn day Thy more than deep autumnal rhyme, He has no need, like many a bard, No more he sees the affluence Of beauty that he had. The old delight God's happy breeze His song is like thine own. But I, who am that perished soul, Pure, perfect speech of thine. Yet here, where plovers nightly call Across dim melancholy leas Then times there are when all the words Dream-haunted spirit, doomed to be Imprisoned, cramped in bands of bark, For all eternity. Yea, like the speech of one aghast At Immortality in chains, With moaning moors and meres ! And when high thunder smites the hill But, ah! conceptions fade away, And still the life that lives in thee, And he must speak the speech divine, By hollow lands and sea-tracts harsh, And, year by year, one step will break Thy home of many dreams. Percy F. Sinnett More than ever you could gather- We have seen, and heard, and laughed, We tossed them like a plaything, We have laughed, and heard, and seen, And the growling thunder's blast; For their fears. There were mothers there on board With their little ones in arms; There were maidens there on board More lovely in their charms Than the day; And again we heard, and laughed As we dashed across the craft; While our master shrieked and roared, And they battled all in vain, This, this, now is the tale How our havoc we have wrought, Oh! ye cruel waves up-dashing, The sand your salt spume splashing, |