Page:A New Zealand verse (1906).pdf/234
This page has been proofread, but needs to be validated.
198
The Wit.
Had known him, and had smiled on him ere he
Had kinsfolk near, or leafy brethren nigh;
The wild birds brought to him their minstrelsy;
The singers knew that when the scene was rude,
He grew and gave a shelter to their race.
By him the wandering melodists were wooed
To trill and warble in that lonely place;
A sanctuary in the solitude
He gave to them. In him the birds could trace
The forest’s king, and so from hills and plains
They flew to him, and sang their sweetest strains.
Had kinsfolk near, or leafy brethren nigh;
The wild birds brought to him their minstrelsy;
The singers knew that when the scene was rude,
He grew and gave a shelter to their race.
By him the wandering melodists were wooed
To trill and warble in that lonely place;
A sanctuary in the solitude
He gave to them. In him the birds could trace
The forest’s king, and so from hills and plains
They flew to him, and sang their sweetest strains.
CXXXVII.
The Wit.
While the dull talk idly streams,
He sits upon the bank and dreams,
Till some careless word that’s said
Finds a fellow in his head.—
He sits upon the bank and dreams,
Till some careless word that’s said
Finds a fellow in his head.—
He with one great bound is borne
From Dent Blanche to Matterhorn;
And his passage is so fast
Over that abyss so vast,
He has not seen how bluely shines
The deep gulf in his pelt of pines,
Nor heard the waste and watery voice
Wherewith the wind-washed pines rejoice.
From Dent Blanche to Matterhorn;
And his passage is so fast
Over that abyss so vast,
He has not seen how bluely shines
The deep gulf in his pelt of pines,
Nor heard the waste and watery voice
Wherewith the wind-washed pines rejoice.