Page:A New Zealand verse (1906).pdf/58

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22
A Colonist in his Garden.
Amid the vale, the waters Undeviating flow.Past root and rock and forest They go as they should go.
What keeps the brook so certain, What rhymes the stars so true,Hath sure some perfect reason For parting me and you.

B. E. Baughan.

XII.

A Colonist in his Garden.

He reads a letter.

“Dim grows your face, and in my ears,Filled with the tramp of hurrying years,  Your voice dies, far apart.Our shortening day draws in, alack!Old friend, ere darkness falls, turn back  To England, life and art.
“Write not that you content can be,Pent by that drear and shipless sea  Round lonely islands rolled:Isles nigh as empty as their deep,Where men but talk of gold and sheep  And think of sheep and gold.
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