Page:A New Zealand verse (1906).pdf/238
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Ariadne Forsaken.
CXLI.
Rhythm and Rime.
We net the flickering rimes that dance atop,
But the great booming rhythms rolling slow
Out of the deeps, we pray and hearken for.
For they are smitten out with blacksmith blows—
Gaunt agonies and passions of the deep—
These are not to be caught at, mocked, or made.
But the great booming rhythms rolling slow
Out of the deeps, we pray and hearken for.
For they are smitten out with blacksmith blows—
Gaunt agonies and passions of the deep—
These are not to be caught at, mocked, or made.
CXLII.
Ariadne Forsaken.
“O sea, that I have laughed with him to sail,
Beauty deserts your hollows and gold caves;
And wind, that lifts the tresses of white waves,
Your sweet-breathed odours fail:
Yea, and green woods; and plashing water-springs;
And flowered lawns, and birds; yea, all fair things
That call Earth Mother; not one can prevail
To soothe the memory that burns, and stings,
Deadens my cheek, and makes my voice a wail.
Beauty deserts your hollows and gold caves;
And wind, that lifts the tresses of white waves,
Your sweet-breathed odours fail:
Yea, and green woods; and plashing water-springs;
And flowered lawns, and birds; yea, all fair things
That call Earth Mother; not one can prevail
To soothe the memory that burns, and stings,
Deadens my cheek, and makes my voice a wail.
“Theseus, ah! Theseus;— where are now the vows
For which all earth but you I have forsworn?
Is woe all love allows
When its sweet day grows tired and overworn?
These sands I pace which we together paced;
These flowers my tresses graced,—
For which all earth but you I have forsworn?
Is woe all love allows
When its sweet day grows tired and overworn?
These sands I pace which we together paced;
These flowers my tresses graced,—