Sonnet.

Dim through the shadow land of long ago
Comes like the flooding dawn each newborn thought;
But whence—we may not know—or how begot :
The liquid gold the sinking sun can throw
On ocean's waste, to other scenes we owe
The stars, the flowers, the grassy fields are fraught
With beauty not their own—a gleam is brought
From travelled realms where mem'ry cannot go;
Feast then, my senses, on a day like this—
Garner—in pleasure 'gainst a chilling gloom;
Share with the bush its melody, nor miss
The clematis and rata's crimson bloom;
Drink in ye eyes and care, each moment's bliss
Shall swell in ceaseless surges to the tomb.