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New Zealand Tablet, 20 February 1919, Page 33

They tell me in the days before the dark That god of grass and sun, dear Angus Og, From silence called you to his golden hands. Cupping within your slender wine of song, Before he flung you forth who would not go, But sang about his head of wind and furze. Then came the dark, and Angus, grown austere, Drove out his little birds to wing the world, And so I find you here above the rata boughs, Where Tane, child of 10, gives you grace. But, ah! above the birch and rata boughs, Do you nob miss the brightness of his hands? Do you not hear the deep word of his mouth ?