Egmont.

High into the morning air,
Blushing with a sunrise red,
Mid the ever restless clouds
Taranaki lifts her head,
While the glistening feet of day
Swiftly from the summits height
Down a dancing path of gold
Chase the eerie mists of night.
In the blaze of heated noon
Still she lifts her stately cone,
Cool in regal majesty,
Reigning lofty and alone,
Or when angry storm clouds blow
And the snow comes drifting down,
Swings a sheltering veil of mist
Round her ancient hoary crown.
Silent in the cool of night
Yet she keeps her lofty pride,
Framed in boundless starlit space
Where the mystic moonbeams glide,
And across the plains below,
Save where faint the night wind weeps,
Creeps a gentle brooding peace
Whispering, “Taranaki sleeps.”

—Les. R. Hill.