New Zealand Verse/Wellington

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LXII.

Wellington.

Rugged she stands, no garlands of bright flowersBind her swart brows, no pleasant forest shadesMantle with twining branches her high hills,No leaping brooks fall singing to her sea.Hers are no meadows green, nor ordered parks;Not hers the gladness nor the light of song,Nor cares she for my singing. ​Rudely scarredHer guardian hills encircle her pent streets,Loud with the voices and the steps of trade;And in her bay the ships of east and westMeet and cast anchor.Hers the pride of placeIn shop and mart, no languid beauty sheSpreading her soft limbs among dreaming flowers,But rough and strenuous, red with rudest health,Tossing her blown hair from her eager eyesThat look afar, filled with the gleam of power,She stands the strong queen city of the south.

David McKee Wright.

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