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The Spike: or, Victoria University College Review, October 1918


page 33


I know a garden, green and deep,
Where larks make song,
And in a blue grey pool at dawn
The late stars throng.

All day little sunbeams sleep
On beds of flowers,
While shadows watch across the lawn
And hush the hours.

When dark steals down my garden grows
And so wide and high,
The young pines touch the swinging moon
And sweep the sky.

And mine, a dusky soul that knows
No heights by day
At night climbs up to fields bestrewn
With stars to play.

C. Q. P.