Page:A New Zealand verse (1906).pdf/85
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Fairyland.
49
On this green headland we will stay
Till day has spent his golden hoard;
See the cloud-shadows on the Bay
Mark out a chequer-board.
Till day has spent his golden hoard;
See the cloud-shadows on the Bay
Mark out a chequer-board.
These ships shall be our playing men;
Mine is the schooner, calm-bestead;
Yours is the brig that tacks in vain
To clear the Burning Head.
Mine is the schooner, calm-bestead;
Yours is the brig that tacks in vain
To clear the Burning Head.
Mine, mine has won! She fills, she soars,
She sails into the azure day;
A wild wind shakes the mountain doors,
And sweeps our board away!
She sails into the azure day;
A wild wind shakes the mountain doors,
And sweeps our board away!
XXIV.
Fairyland.
Do you remember that careless band,
Riding o’er meadow and wet sea-sand,
One autumn day, in a mist of sunshine,
Joyously seeking for fairyland?
Riding o’er meadow and wet sea-sand,
One autumn day, in a mist of sunshine,
Joyously seeking for fairyland?
The wind in the tree-tops was scarcely heard,
The streamlet repeated its one silver word,
And far away, o’er the depths of woodland,
Floated the bell of the parson-bird.
The streamlet repeated its one silver word,
And far away, o’er the depths of woodland,
Floated the bell of the parson-bird.