See, thinly trickling from the age-old wound,
The steady stream of squandered womanhood!
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LIKE Clotho, at her harp she sits and weaves
A melody that ever louder singsAnd my charmed heart in vibrant rapture leavesAll hers! And all her quiet life receivesThe peaceful melody which round her clings;She walks amid suave strains and murmuringsThat never doubt or strident discord cleaves.And from her singing harp she bends to grantMy dear desire; and the poor monotone,That is my life,…
NOT he who sings smooth songs that soothe—
The sorrow that would only weep;There are some spirit-stains so deepThat only tears may wash away.Not he whose lays thrill fiercely tillThe soul is sick with surfeiting,Such passion flies, and leaves its sting,Till through the body quiveringThe wearied dull pain throbs again.Not he whose glad voice says “Rejoice!”For whom no clouds o’ercast the sky;Whose god…
The steady soaking of the rain,
The trees are weeping in their pain,Dank leaves the ground encumber.A dismal ghost of silence straysFrom shade to dusky daylight;O’er all a whispered horror weighs,Like mist athwart the grey light.A frightened robin in the fernsPeeks fearfully and lonely,But back to comfort him returnsThe drip of rain-drops only.The fern-fronds shiver when they feelCold foot-prints press like…
The ebb of day has now begun;
But one forgotten wisp of cloudGlows like a fragment of the sun,And stranded on the shores of Night,Where ‘gainst the sky the telegraphStretching his dim, audacious pathDefiantly to heaven aspires,There lies a maiden, drowned and white—The torn Moon tangled in the wires!
MAORILAND, my mother!
O, my land of the moa and Maori ,Garlanded grand with your forests of kauri ,Lone you stand, only beauty your dowry ,Maoriland, my mother!Older poets sing their frozenEngland in her mists enshrouded;Newer lands my Muse has chosen,‘Neath a Southern sky unclouded;Set, a solitary gem,In Pacific’s diadem.Land of rugged white-clad ranges,Standing proud, impassive, lonely;Ice and…
A PAIR of lovers in the street!
My unforgetting heart I cheat.Ah, God, spare me—so soon againAt the barred door to beat in vain,And find their dalliance such fierce pain!I, yearning up from Hell’s abyss,See, dreaming through their worlds of bliss,This Dante and his Beatrice!For these the distant goal have wonFor which God made the plasm and sun;His patient labouring is done.For…