Page:A New Zealand verse (1906).pdf/69

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In London.
33
Her fresh young figure, lithe and tall, Her twilight eyes, her brow benign,She is the peerless queen of all— The maid, the country, that I shrine In this far banished heart of mine!
   But over the loping leagues of green   A lone land wails with a hope serene—   My own land calls like a prisoner queen—   But oh! the long loping leagues between!

Arthur H. Adams.

XV.

In London.

When I look out on London’s teeming streets,On grim grey houses, and on leaden skies,My courage fails me, and my heart grows sick,And I remember that fair heritageBarter’d by me for what your London gives.This is not Nature’s city: I am kinTo whatsoever is of free and wild,And here I pine between these narrow walls,And London’s smoke hides all the stars from me,Light from mine eyes, and Heaven from my heart.
For in an island of those Southern seasThat lie behind me, guided by the CrossThat looks all night from out our splendid skies,I know a valley opening to the East.
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