WHERE THE WAIHOU GENTLY FLOWS.

Hauraki Plains Gazette, Volume XXXIX, Issue 5347, 5 November 1928, Page 1

WHERE THE WAIHOU GENTLY FLOWS.

Doyvn there in the valley, where the Waihou gently flows, In twilight dreams and fancies, my heart it ever goes ; For I hear your soft voice, calling, •fqnd memories come to me, I see your dear fa,ce smiling, beneath the willow tree.

Your grey eyes softly beaming, on your hair, a silken sheen, Like a sweet half-opened flower your youthful charms are seen. It’s the vision that is with me thro’ the long, long empty years; And my heart still beats its answer., my eyes still mist with tears, When these scenes come to remind me qf those happy days gone by. Where we so oft have wianidered', together you and I.

In twilight dreams and) 'fancies, there my heart ever goes, Down there in: the valley, where the dear old Waihou flows.

On the banks qf the Waihou, in those days so lopg ago, When the summer day was ending. Down the track there I’d be, wend-

ing,; For beneath the weeping willow, in the twilight’s witching air, At our dear old trysting place, you’d be waiting lor me there, With your, brown hair softly waving, your tender eyes of grey, That oft told me the story your shy lips would nqt say.

There you I loved and worshipped, in a wholesome boyish way, As along the track we wandered, or together theie we’d play. Dearest, beloved little: sweetheart, bld-time pal qf mine, You made my life a pleasure, in those glorious: hours divine, With your fair face pure and tender, like the dewy morning rose, Down there in the; valley where th 3 dear old Waihou flqws.

Oh! How well do I remember that dreary bygone day, When, my heart lost all its sunshine, the skies seemed dull and gray ; And the path, was dark and lonely, which we so oft trod! with glee : The;,,trysting place was empty, there you’d nq longer wait for. me. I lost the joy and laughter; when angels called you could not stay : And there from the valley your sweet spirit passed away. Many weary yeajrs have passed dear, still your spirit calls to me, And in the soft twilight hours your dear face I can see. It’s some day we will meet, dear, in that spirit land;

We will, view those scenes together, go there hand in hanft Along the track that leads tjo where that weeping willow grows, Down there in th© valley, where the dear old Waih'ou flows.

—F. N. Moore, Auckland.