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Salient. An Organ of Student Opinion at Victoria College, Wellington, N.Z. Vol. 10, No. 3. April 2, 1947
[section]
Poetry
Tell me not, Sweet, [unclear: I'te] seen the light.
If I should seem to flee
My thirsty friends of Friday night.
The hills, and you, [unclear: Cherie].
But ghosts compel me more and more
To see you less and less;
To quit today for days of yore
And love for letterpress.
The man who sang and bellowed [unclear: skout]
When Beowulf got him drunk
Now lays an unguent to his soul
By making me a monk.
The kaka screams on Alpha yet
But cannot countervail
The harsh, imperious duel
Of Owl and Nightingale.
And Burns, the rantin, drouthy bard—
I might have hoped his benison:
But no, he drives me just as hard
As Thackeray or Tennyson.
To cram the classics wearily
In ill-digested dollops.
And shun your sweet society
To spend the night with Trollope's.
Indeed, the situation's such
As few will not deplore:
I could not love thee, Dear, so much.
Loved I not Honours more.
—H.W.G.
Love Song
If as I turn my mind. I turned my body
Hip to hip aligned with yours.
What wonders would the after-sense reveal.
What contours would the clouds assume?
And would the mountains turn from their pristine heights
And deliver, like an incantation, the secret of their beauty?
Would the bland and flippant [unclear: blucness] of the sky
Become profound, an [unclear: interted] couch for my sky-flown,
Light-footed, super-ego, O [unclear: igolie] spirit.
Perhaps I should be amazingly absorbed and [unclear: perraded]
(Not without some Justice) with [unclear: inreterate] desires
To repent the warmth of dual fusion hip to hip.
The wind sounding an idle rirelay down dark, deserted streets
Or waring and binding like a bow the hillside grass and trees.
O woman he sings of you.
—Searos.
Post War POW
In Kürnten nor on tall Gross Gtuckner's top.
A bright white handkerchief of sunlight falling
Becomes a [unclear: curpet] [unclear: dazzlingly] unfurling.
Long flashing folds of silrer down the slope.
Ach, lieber cut, to cut sleep step by step.
A path again towards high Gtuckner's criling.
To turn, content, with, token of the scaling.
In [unclear: edelweiss] to decorate your cap!
And when the last pale citadels of day
The climbing tide of shadours comes to claim.
To hear within some warm [unclear: pinescented] room.
Elfreda sing " Dein ist mein Here," and know
This [unclear: unmajextic] English winter-time.
And all these long verloren years, vorbel!
—CAPJ.