A Folk Song
I came to your town, my love,
And you were away, away!
I said "She is with the Queen's maidens:
They tarry long at their play.
They are stringing her words like pearls
To throw to the dukes and earls."
But O, the pity!
I had but a morn of windy red
To come to the town where you were bred,
And you were away, away!
I came to your town, my love,
And you were away, away!
I said, "She is with the mountain elves
And misty and fair as they.
They are spinning a diamond net
To cover her curls of jet."
But O, the pity!
I had but a noon of searing heat
To come to your town, my love, my sweet,
And you were away, away!
I came to your town, my love,
And you were away, away!
I said, "She is with the pale white saints,
And they tarry long to pray.
They give her a white lily-crown,
And I fear she will never come down."
But O, the pity!
I had but an even grey and wan
To come to your town and plead as man,
And you were away, away!
Dunedin in the Gloaming
Like a black, enamoured King whispered low the thunder
To the lights of Roslyn, terraced far asunder:
Hovered low the sister cloud in wild, warm wonder.
"O my love, Dunedin town, the only, the abiding!
Who can look undazzled up where the Norn is riding, —
Watch the sword of destiny from the scabbard gliding!
"Dark and rich and ringing true — word and look for ever;
Taking to her woman heart all forlorn endeavour;
Heaven's sea about her feet, not the bounded river!"
"Sister of the mountain mist, and never to be holden
With the weary sophistries that dimmer eyes embolden, —
O the dark Dunedin town, shot with green and golden!"
Then a silver pioneer netted in the rift,
Leaning over Maori Hill, dreaming in the lift,
Dropped her starry memories through the passioned drift: —