The New Zealand Railways Magazine, Volume 9, Issue 2 (May 1, 1934.)
When you tell of old world mansions
With their creeper covered walls
And their western windows glowing
When the silver arrow falls
From the long blue bow of heaven,
Striking crimson from the panes
As the broadsword of the sunlight
Wounds the misty summer rains,
Then I see lake Roto-iti
Where the Arnaud ranges rise
From their birch encumbered foothills
To their snow encompassed skies.
There the green protective pinions,
Fearful for its chastity,
Fold around this crystal glowing
Through the mountains’ majesty.
Speak you of a stained glass window
In an ivy mantled pile?
In my castle is a mirror,
In that mirror gaze awhile—
Gaze into these magic waters,
Gaze, and you shall never know
Which the mirror, which the mountains,
Which the clouds and which the snow.
Tell me shadowy romances
Of a story long ago,
Flit behind your mansion windows,
Tremulous and to and fro.
I shall tell of Roto-iti
Where the starry wraiths go by
With the moon, the most romantic
Moon of all thy pageantry.
Tell me yours is beauty fashioned
By the yearning heart of man;
Tell me art is the impassioned
Love of things he makes who can.
I reply—old loves forsaking—
By Zealandia's lakes is shown
Beauty's art gives man an aching
For the things no man has known.