Maoriland Posy

I did not know—how could I know?— My own dear land, I'd loved you so, Until through English woods I went And vexed my heart with discontent, At seeing English bluebells blow; At seeing primrose stars appear Along the hedge-rows far and near, And lime-trees filling all the street With airs bewilderingly sweet, And blue flags blowing by the mere.

* * *

Then loitering in an English lane Dreaming my wistful dreams again; I saw as I had never seen, The bronze and green and richer green Of dark old forests” deeps and shades With sun-shot, shadowy colonnades, Where high above the feathering fern, The crimson crowns of rata burn, And climbing upward to the light With far-flung trails of green and white,

The clematis breaks through the bars, And floods the glades with streams of stars.

While o'er the blue seas' foamy drifts Old King Pohutukawa lifts His flaming torches to the light Like beacon fires along the height, And wind-swept ti-tree's sturdy maze Is white with myriad starry sprays. I saw the flax-spires' red-brown blooms,

The koromiko's purple plumes, And spilling incense to the breeze, Palm-lily heads in clouds of bees, And shy hoheria's ringlets pale, Trembling so exquisitely frail, And kowhai hung with tasselled gold, And ferns and mosses manifold, And lovely tendrilled, nameless weeds Gemmed all their length with coral beads.

Then gazing on those drifts of blue, At last I knew—too well I knew— (I had come far and far for this) The alien's pang of pain and bliss— That all my yearning heart should know My own dear land I love you so. —Isabel M. Peacocke.