GORSE
(By
ROBIN HYDE)
God send to-morrow a day of mist. Grey clouds slim and still as a crane Floating shadows of amethyst. And a little, quiet rain. Send the smooth winds flying like doves From hollows under the hillside-breast Loose on high the light that she loves. Ragged silver along the west. Call the blue winds home from the deep. Home from the harbour of little ships. They will bring dreams to the heart asleep And a quiver back to her lips. Here on the hill, her white youth dwells. Here by the gorse, her soul keeps tryit; Speaks with a voice of floating bells Faint and far through the mist. Seal the words she shall give you. Lord, Safe in Thy casket of spacious skies. Staunch with dews the wound of the sword Heal with a star her eyes. Let Thine earth forgive her at length That she forgot that she grew old And the dark hill offer her all its strength And the drenched gorse all its gold.
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https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/SUNAK19281221.2.172
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Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 543, 21 December 1928, Page 8 (Supplement)
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171GORSE Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 543, 21 December 1928, Page 8 (Supplement)
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