Page:A New Zealand verse (1906).pdf/235
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In the Garden.
199
In a moment’s thousandth part,In the beat of the bee’s heart,He has flown it: ’tis a wayWhere the kite and eagle play.Tho’ the chamois, lithe and fine,Passes it ’twixt wake and dine;Tho’ the dun geier, gaunt and lean,Flash across that gulf betweenSol’s first footing of his bedAnd the covering of his head,What he’s compassed in one strideIs two days for the Zermatt guide.
CXXXVIII.
In the Garden, New Place, Stratford.
September; 1615.
All living men and women are as ghostsTo yon old Traveller dreaming in the shade.He sitteth with his hands upon his paunch;His brows sag down upon his large calm eye,That dwells upon the smooth old lawn he loves.Silverly pipes the thrush, the sun sinks down;It draweth on to curfew. The old manHas travelled in a flash the dusty ways,And is in his dear London. Hark, he hearsThe hollow hum of pit and stalls expectant;Hob calls to Jenkins, pit to gallery;