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The New Zealand Railways Magazine, Volume 10, Issue 8 (November 1, 1935)
New Zealand Verse
New Zealand Verse
Only Your Eyes.
Eyes to cause dreams—and I have dreamed
The long day through, since, passing by,
Your careless glancing snared my eye.
So soft, so calm, so sure they seemed. That I have wondered, envying such, How one so young could know so much.
Perchance that heavenly softness beamed
In prime effulgence on a morn, Heart-twisting, when the spring was born.
And such tranquility was creamed From water's green translucent glaze As, motionless, it fed your gaze.
For Steadfastness, your Soul's light beamed;
And where that glowing lamp was lit I cannot know, nor guess at it.
But if I go on pilgrimage,
A palmer of another age, I'll seek to know an English spring And love each green and growing thing,
Upon my soul's brown wood to know, Thereby, the thrust of buds that grow; And some day when my soul's in leaf To know of ecstasies the chief—To meet another one like you Who'll stop: and see my soul shine through.
* * *
Barren Gold.
Far to the north, where the sand-dunes lie,
And the sea-birds' plaint mocks the empty sky,
The great god Waste rules his barren gold
With a bland conceit that is old, so old:
For the birth of time found him seated there,
With the mad, west wind in his unkempt hair;
His trident sceptre the lightning's fork, Rapier keen—as the arrested hawk Swoops to pinion his stricken prey—The blue fire flickers in sinister play; And the wild seas rock where the crazed wind taunts
A shore so arid no scarred reef vaunts
A stark relief 'gainst shifting sand, For the great god Waste stalks the desolate strand.
And man himself fears this tortured zone,
Where the cold sea claims what is not its own,
Nor bird nor tree haunts the lonely shore,
But the phantom ships that will sail no more—
The phantom ships that lost their way On the unknown coast of a bygone day—
Ride the seas when the moon is high, And the scudding clouds scour the weary sky:
The great god Waste is infinitely old, And the sand-dunes' march but a tale half-told.
* * *
Roads.
Broad roads there are, and white, and concrete-paved,
High along ridges, gleaming in the sun,
Noisy roads, important roads, and clean, for there
The wheels of the wealthy run.
Down in the valleys there crawl hot streets,
Narrow and bent like a beckoning hand;
Hemmed in with hovels and crumbling shops
Almost too old to stand.
I know that they are dirty, sordid, mean,
That ugly things are done behind their walls,
And yet the moon and stars are silver there
When holy evening falls.
And clean white roads have map-directed ends,
But ugly, crooked lanes may hold surprise,
For many a side-street climbs to look into
The City's sparkling eyes.
And sometimes a wretched shack can dumbly show
A plot of tulips shining to the sun, And even there Sleep's opiate slowly stills
The voices one by one.
* * *
Aotearoa.
Lovely Place Names of New Zealand.
Sat a poet idly dreaming, Far and long into the night,
Burnt his candle all unheeded,
For his muse had taken flight.
Drew his atlas idly to him,
Turned its pages through and through,
Suddenly its names came crowding,
“Let us see what we can do!”
Then they formed in ranks before him,
Four and four and four abreast,
And they watched and waited gently,
While he put them to the test.
Quick as thought he glanced them over, Took one here, and took one there.
Found that, stringing them together, He could make a poem rare.
Waiareka, Whakapara, Whangaroa, Waihopai, Onewhero, Otahuhu, Onerahi, Otukai, Manawatu, Matamata, Maunganui, Mamaku, Tongariro, Tarawera, Taranaki, Timaru, Whakatane, Wanganui, Waitemata, Waikanae, Rotorua, Rangiora, Ruahine, Ruawai, Papakura, Pukekohe, Pakaraka, Pekerau, Katikati, Kerikeri, Tikitiki, Takapau.
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