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The New Zealand Railways Magazine, Volume 9, Issue 1 (April 2, 1934.)

Summertime in Maoriland

Summertime in Maoriland.

'Tis summertime in Maoriland—the land of greenery,
And tourists hasten here to see the world-famed scenery.
The plains are seas of burnished gold—'tis harvest-time again
The fields are hedged by golden gorse—to match the golden grain.
The broad Pacific gently leans against the Eastern shore
And whispers tales of warriors and ancient Maori lore.
While in its sunkissed, sparkling depths the bathers swim and play
Or bask in sultry summer sun each lovely summer day.
Afar up in the bush-clad hills, the air is fresh and clear.
Once more the joyous, rippling notes of feathered folk, I hear.
The snowy-throated tui, and the fan-tail small and shy,
The bellbird's silvery echoes, and the mountain parrot's cry.
The red and purple fuschia buds are falling all in showers.
And mingle with clematis white, and yellow kowhai flowers.
Away up in the green-leafed heights, entwined in fond embrace
The red pohutukawa bends in dainty, fairy grace.
And underneath, an ocean green is stretched for miles around
Of waist-high, gently-stirring ferns all draped along the ground.
Then, with a deep melodious roar, a waterfall leaps down
From dizzy heights of moss-grown rocks, and slippery limestone brown
And presently it ‘merges from its mad and headlong rush
Its voice is toned into a low and gently soothing hush.
The summer sun shines brightly down on snow-tipped mountains grand
And sends a call to come and see This lovely Maori land.

—Mae Bushell (aged 15 years).

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