Delight.

To hail the day from some high cliff at dawning,
When shadows flee before the sun's first ray—
Where sea-birds chant their ever mournful warning
To boats that swing at anchor in the bay.
To see the restless foaming breakers dashing
O'er jagged rocks, and catch the sparkling light
From high-flung spray—(ten thousand rainbows flashing
‘Twixt sea and sky). Lo! this is youth's delight.
To drift at noon down some enchanted river,
Where minnows dart long swaying reeds between;
And every pool of dappled light's a quiver,
Above its bed of speckled gold and green—
To wander free through hours of joyous leisure
Where mushrooms spring, dew-spangled over night;
And Autumn yields her ripened golden treasure
‘Neath skies of blue-Lo! this is true delight.
To linger in the soft fern scented gloaming,
When day is slowly dying in the West;
And joyful greet my comrade homeward coming,
A downy head close nestled on my breast—
To catch the strain of bell-bird vespers chiming,
In dim recess of sombre wooded height;
And hail yon moon in full-orbed splendour climbing
O'er bush-clad hill-Lo! this is sheer delight.

—(Miss) Marion Taylor.