FUGITIVES
Wellington.
Too swift—too swift are wards. ever for me To cast in silver bells of harmony. They go on errant wings—as butterflies That steal the magic hues of western skies— And little care that I, loving them so, . May follow not at all to where they go.
O what dim land of dream the wealthier is For sheltering these unheard shy fugitives? And do they give themselves unstinting there To him who’d make of them a merry air— An air to woo his love to glad surprise. And kindle a warm fire within her eyes? Or are they shyer still than here they be— Where they do tempt the heart and brain of me To throw no more a net to bring them in As nets are thrown at sea by fishermen?
I would that I might go to that dim land And gather in my words with eager hand. And bring them home again, and set them free In little bursts of song and melody. . . . But they’re too swift—too swift ever for me To cast in silver bells of harmony!
C. G. R. JAMES.
Permanent link to this item
https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/SUNAK19291220.2.169.8
Bibliographic details
Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 851, 20 December 1929, Page 2 (Supplement)
Word Count
186FUGITIVES Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 851, 20 December 1929, Page 2 (Supplement)
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