The Spike: or, Victoria University College Review, June 1924
Out on the silent, darkling sea of
Night She flies, the airy pinnace of my mind;
She needs no wind to bear her out of sight,
No chart her path to find.
But, solely captained by a Shape of Thought,
She drives upon that foamless ocean, blown
By breath of fancy in her round sails caught,
Unmarked, unhailed, alone—
From sound or sight or seeking holding so
Until she casts her crystal anchor down,
Within some starry archipelago,
Below some dream-built town.
There, gently swinging in that softer air,
She loads her hold with precious bales of Peace—
Prom shadowy wharves are passed the bundles rare
So turning, silent ever, on that tide,
Swifter than any bird she wings her way,
Back without falter, where she may abide,
Close-hidden in the bay
Which is my secret Being, safe from storm—
Puts off her charmed cargo, which to me
A quietude of spirit is, the form
Of a high constancy.