Page:A New Zealand verse (1906).pdf/119
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The Red West Road.
83
XLVII.
The Red West Road.
Off-shore I hear the great propellors thunder,
And throb and thrash so steadily and slow;
Their booming cadence tells of seas that plunder—
Of Love’s moon-seas and brave hearts thrown asunder,
Of hot, red lips and battles, blow for blow;
And as they sing my heart is filled with wonder,
Though why—I scarcely know.
And throb and thrash so steadily and slow;
Their booming cadence tells of seas that plunder—
Of Love’s moon-seas and brave hearts thrown asunder,
Of hot, red lips and battles, blow for blow;
And as they sing my heart is filled with wonder,
Though why—I scarcely know.
Perhaps it is because they tell a story,
And lift a deep storm-measure as they come —
A song of old-time love and battles gory,
When men dared Hell and sailed through sunset’s glory
With pealing trumpet tuned to rolling drum,
To hunt, and loot, and sink the jewelled quarry
In seas too deep to plumb.
And lift a deep storm-measure as they come —
A song of old-time love and battles gory,
When men dared Hell and sailed through sunset’s glory
With pealing trumpet tuned to rolling drum,
To hunt, and loot, and sink the jewelled quarry
In seas too deep to plumb.
I only know I watch the steamers going
Along the Red West Road, with heavy heart,
And when the night comes, look for head-lights showing,
And mark their speed—the ebb-tide or the flowing,
For loth am I to see them slew and start
Adown that path; and every deep call blowing
Stabs like a driven dart.
Along the Red West Road, with heavy heart,
And when the night comes, look for head-lights showing,
And mark their speed—the ebb-tide or the flowing,
For loth am I to see them slew and start
Adown that path; and every deep call blowing
Stabs like a driven dart.
The blazing West to me is always calling,
For in the West there burns my brightest star. . . .
O God! to hear the anchor-winches hauling,
And feel her speeding, soaring high and falling,
With steady swing across the brawling bar—
To hear the stem-struck rollers tumble sprawling,
And watch the lights afar.
For in the West there burns my brightest star. . . .
O God! to hear the anchor-winches hauling,
And feel her speeding, soaring high and falling,
With steady swing across the brawling bar—
To hear the stem-struck rollers tumble sprawling,
And watch the lights afar.