Poets’ Corner

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 453, 7 September 1928, Page 14

Poets’ Corner

SOUTH

(Written for The Sun.] God send my ship of dreams to-night Fat voyaging, Seeking wild sunsets that have waited long For any eyes to see 'Their awful radiance of revelation, The golden wings of the creative spirit Still brooding over ice and lifeless ocean, The seed and flower still locked within the brain That dreams of setting grass and fluttering Small breasts of birds and sunbrowned limbs of children In wastes transformed. Then let my lost ship find The giant and fantastic passages; The cav mocking, green and insolent; The hoary blizzards mounted on their walls, Citadels that shall take so long to storm. So long for sun and milk-white winds to climb. Triumphant, , harebells springing 'neath their feet . . . My ears shall hear a little of the song Of aeons still to rise: my eyes shall see A little of this star’s long destiny. ROBIN HYDE. Wellington.

THE SONG

(Written for THE SUN) Once in an idle hour, 1 made a little song, Through shining yellow hours, A morning long. 1 threaded through my song, Ah—many lovely things, Remembered radiances. Of vanished Springs. Sweet laughter like a bell Rang through it—and a note Of an enraptured song, From a bird’s throat. And through it clear and low. Blew wind-tossed ecstasies, Wafted through emerald hands. Of little trees. The elfin loveliness, Of crystal-fingered rain. Tapped through it brokenly, A thin refrain. 1 took my little song. To a quiet, dreaming town, And sold it to a man. For a bright crown. He was not very rich, He was not very wise, But 1 could glimpse the dreams Hid in his eyes. He sang my little song, He sang it east and west, H.e sang it like a man, Beauty possessed. He sang it like a man, Whom beauty could bewitch, Although he was not wise. And teas not rich. In all humility, 1 gave him back his crown, And left him with his dreams. In that quiet town. IVY GIBBS.