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The New Zealand Railways Magazine, Volume 14, Issue 12 (March 1, 1940)

The Plunge

page 31

The Plunge

“One cannot but be regretful that the young poets have in their sincere searching for self-expression, turned their eyes towards the cool, abstract pool in which the modern English poets bathe their unfevered heads, when New Zealand offers the bubbling, boiling, viscous stuff of a civilisation yet uncultured, wherein they might bravely plunge.”

Extract from “Press Review.”

S, here goes:—

Into the prancing geyser,
Into the boiling pool,
With its fiery freaks
And its eerie creaks;
An 1 the hissing steam in its fury shrieks,
“They'd dump me if I kept cool.”
Into the boiling cauldron;
Into the sizzling hell
Where the craters fume,
And the earthquakes boom,
And the devil grins in the engine room,
And a tourist blurts, “Well! Well!”
Into the big blue morning;
Out where the tall pines stand-
Where the bush-bird sings
And the wild-flower springs,
And dripping with music the forest rings
With a song of Maoriland.
Into the sun-drenched meadow,
Lit with the sweet perfume
Of the golden sheaf—
Where old Nature's brief
Clear visions the turn of a brand new leaf,
Romanced with a rare, “By goom!'
Into the breezy bushland;
Into the fern-laced glade—
Where the moo-cows reign,
And the steers are slain
To produce the stuff that builds
brawn and brain
With which the poets are made.

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