Spring in New Zealand.

Springtime, fair and joyous, bedecks the earth anew,
From Winter's sombre mantle her lovely face peeps through;
There's the chime of silver cymbals in the laughter on her lips,
Re-echoed from the kowhai's gold, where the tui, nectar sips.

The dew-bespangled bracken, the willow by the stream,
The cuckoo o'er the valley, the patient, plodding team,
Deep conscious of the quickening pulse, the life-tang in the air,
Respond to Nature's stirring touch—dear Homeland thou art fair!

The bush is tinged with emerald, clemat is stars the trees;
There's laughter in the gullies, and song upon the breeze;
There's golden glory everywhere, from garden-plot to plain,
And the music of the daffodils shakes the earth again.
O little sea-girt island, may thy songs ever be
Pure cadences of gladness, distilled from bird and tree:
New Zealand—Homeland—Maoriland, a new song greets the day—
A promise hundredfold fulfilled, a star to light the way.

—Gwenyth Evans.

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