Page:A New Zealand verse (1906).pdf/128
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Two Voices.
91
But from eastward comes the call of glistening beaches, sleeping bays,
And the pale, thin, shivering grasses in the land-wind set astir;
And the lace of broken rollers, wove for us in summer days,
When I sought my ocean mother with my love, and found her fair.
And the pale, thin, shivering grasses in the land-wind set astir;
And the lace of broken rollers, wove for us in summer days,
When I sought my ocean mother with my love, and found her fair.
Oh the beach, of worlds forsaken! Oh the pressure of soft hands,
In our lotus-land of ocean, lulled to mellow minor keys!
Oh the kiss among the lupins, green among the grey of sands,
When our swaying souls were shaken in the rush of roaring seas!
In our lotus-land of ocean, lulled to mellow minor keys!
Oh the kiss among the lupins, green among the grey of sands,
When our swaying souls were shaken in the rush of roaring seas!
How golden were the evenings in that slumbrous summer weather,
When we plucked the scarlet poppies of delight and of desire!
How musical the mornings when we wandered forth together!
All royal the sea-kingdom where our feet could never tire.
When we plucked the scarlet poppies of delight and of desire!
How musical the mornings when we wandered forth together!
All royal the sea-kingdom where our feet could never tire.
Rival chimings, murmuring still of mountain pleasure, sea delight,
Mocking melodies of memories of what I loved the most:
When morning’s golden promises have rolled away the night,
It is cold in this my city, and the music all is lost.
Mocking melodies of memories of what I loved the most:
When morning’s golden promises have rolled away the night,
It is cold in this my city, and the music all is lost.
M. C. Keane.