Page:A New Zealand verse (1906).pdf/235
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In the Garden.
199
In a moment’s thousandth part,
In the beat of the bee’s heart,
He has flown it: ’tis a way
Where the kite and eagle play.
Tho’ the chamois, lithe and fine,
Passes it ’twixt wake and dine;
Tho’ the dun geier, gaunt and lean,
Flash across that gulf between
Sol’s first footing of his bed
And the covering of his head,
What he’s compassed in one stride
Is two days for the Zermatt guide.
In the beat of the bee’s heart,
He has flown it: ’tis a way
Where the kite and eagle play.
Tho’ the chamois, lithe and fine,
Passes it ’twixt wake and dine;
Tho’ the dun geier, gaunt and lean,
Flash across that gulf between
Sol’s first footing of his bed
And the covering of his head,
What he’s compassed in one stride
Is two days for the Zermatt guide.
CXXXVIII.
In the Garden, New Place, Stratford.
September; 1615.
All living men and women are as ghosts
To yon old Traveller dreaming in the shade.
He sitteth with his hands upon his paunch;
His brows sag down upon his large calm eye,
That dwells upon the smooth old lawn he loves.
Silverly pipes the thrush, the sun sinks down;
It draweth on to curfew.
The old man
Has travelled in a flash the dusty ways,
And is in his dear London. Hark, he hears
The hollow hum of pit and stalls expectant;
Hob calls to Jenkins, pit to gallery;
To yon old Traveller dreaming in the shade.
He sitteth with his hands upon his paunch;
His brows sag down upon his large calm eye,
That dwells upon the smooth old lawn he loves.
Silverly pipes the thrush, the sun sinks down;
It draweth on to curfew.
The old man
Has travelled in a flash the dusty ways,
And is in his dear London. Hark, he hears
The hollow hum of pit and stalls expectant;
Hob calls to Jenkins, pit to gallery;