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The New Zealand Railways Magazine, Volume 11, Issue 2 (May 1, 1936)

New Zealand Verse

page 41

New Zealand Verse

Blinded.

I can live fully in remembered things,
In loveliness long past, still beauty find;
“It snows,” they say, and memory brings
The may-tree, shaking blossoms on the wind.
I do not weep that I may see again,
Stray glints of sunlight filter through the trees,
Or glimpse a gull, strong winged in the rain;
For in my heart I hold these ecstacies.
And if the rose no longer blooms for me,
Gone are my tears. Behind these hidden eyes
My soul has drained its crimson rhapsody,
And in my treasure-house the glory lies.
“No moon to-night. And Oh! The sky looks cold!”
But to my mind another vision comes,
I see parades of colour, and the gold
Of lovely autumn's last chrysanthemums.
“Poor thing,” they say, “She sees no more the light;
Can thrill no more to periwinkles' blue.”
How can they know the clarity of sight
Remembrance alone can give the view?

Shadows.

I do not laugh
At shadows; they
Are haunting ghosts
Of yesterday.
The cheery rays
Of a friendly smile,
A, frown that hurt
For a little while;
A tired hand pressed
By a friend who could
With that meaning touch
Show she understood;
The matchless beauty
Of a lovely scene,
A dark spot cheered
By a spot of green;
The golden light
Of the morning sun,
The thrill received
From the words, “Well done,”
The overpowering
Force of love
For One who made
Blue skies above.
The yesterdays
Have come and gone,
But their shadows live
Forever on.

Pipiriki.

Graven in the very being
Of a man are memories
That survive the joy of seeing.
Let me limn you one of these.
Let me write as it was written
All along the banks that lay
Where the Maori poles had bitten
Patterns in the sombre clay.
Pipiriki, Pipiriki,
Did you harbour elf and faun
Was there word of ghostly tiki
When I woke that silver dawn?
All night long the water churning
As each breasted rapid passed
Had bespoken upward yearning
To a bourne. The trees stood massed
Pipiriki, Pipiriki,
Miles from where those willows sweep
By the town where many a tiki
Fell from those who fell on sleep.
Pipiriki, time has sundered
Thee and me. What Sabbath strange.
Once we shared. A boy, I wondered
At the things that never change.
Pipiriki, Pipiriki,
Seed and harvest, foe and friend.
One old tribesman like a tiki
Graven haunts me to the end.

Here Comes The Mail.

Here comes the Mail
Athrill with speed's delight,
Arace, aroar, arumble
Through the night,
The Engine purrs
Ahead the ribbons gleam;
A hundred wheels
Recite their magic theme!
A mighty song
They echo through the night
To fill the valleys
With its strange delight.
Years pass away
And still I rush the rail
When someone calls—“Grandad,
Here comes the Mail.”

The Ache Of Beauty.

The ache of beauty and the lassitude,
The hurt of seeing, hearing, yet unknowing
The fullness of it, the beatitude
Of comprehension; weariness of going
Lifelong among the loveliness of life,
Feeling the beat of heart-stirred numbness questing
A whence one cannot know nor ever gain.
Of such is beauty—for the soul unresting
A darkening gleam; for all one's being, pain.

Nocturne.

The mist
Is trembling on the hillside.
The sun,
With one swift stab,
Could put the poor pale ghost to flight.
Compassion stays him;
To the sea he sinks,
Leaving a quiet world to misty night.