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The Spike or Victoria University College Review 1948

[Poems by P. S. Wilson]

The City Shepherd

If I was waiting for a tram
By judge's Corner or at the Bay
And you came by,
We'd go together down the street
And watch the hours fly.

page 28

In a myriad travellers' features,
Various as my mind's sight,
The hours would pass,
And each small second have meaning
Or a joy for us.

And my coin would then be honoured
By the quick and sudden glances
You would not see,
Though through me you'd know truly
We had come safely through.

The Unhurried Thought

When the painter takes his brush,
When the heart its colours knows
And then the sounds begin to weave
The harmonies of their intent,
When the pallid mother-clay
Is fastened on the potter's wheel
And the poet of the world
Finds his golden, motiveless phrase,—
These signs of craft and worldly skill,—
The tiny pursing of the lips,
The small, created pause in choice,—
Make all things at home again,
At home, and in final safety
And in earned joy.

Little Verses

If it began by candlelight
Then it will end when the great sun
Glows down the east side of the river
And the birds begin and small waves rise.
As music it was soft in the dark,
Stretched, like the sparse, bright rays
Of candlelight, through the perceiving mind.
Then darkness turns to the waves' ripples
And the birds' song is the bright ending,
Just like my love shall always be.
A raising of the spirit in love
Is a bare, bright, joyful light;
If it began by candlelight
Then it will live by the sun at the end.

page 29

A Little Pattern

A twilight by the beach
When the tide is low
And a seaside radio
Sentimentalizes each
Impulse of gratitude,
The far-off water,
The great, bare beach,
Make their quiet vicissitude.
Hearing may falter
While they come down to our reach.

A Christmas Carol

With faith unto our Lord
We sing this chilly eve,
For on this night we celebrate
What we at least believe.

And you in your warm houses
Built in a modern time,
Lining streets in a modern way,
May note our verses rhyme,

Our tune is bold and clear,
Our scansion carefully made,
And our voices true and high
And all our words well said.

And will you find our faith is good?
You cannot know or care:
The wind comes down this chilly street
And frost is in the air

And our words rise in clouds to the sky,
And when you raise your head
And hand us benediction
You think that's all we get;

But there you are wrong, my lords,
Wrong as a telling tongue;
For even as you raise your head
You grace the song we've sung.