Page:A New Zealand verse (1906).pdf/77

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The Pink and White Terraces.
41

XVIII.

The Pink and White Terraces.

From the low sky-line of the hilly rangeBefore them, sweeping down its dark-green faceInto the lake that slumbered at its base,A mighty Cataract—so it seemed—Over a hundred steps of marble streamedAnd gushed, or fell in dripping overflow—Flat steps, in flights half-circled—row o’er row,Irregularly mingling side by side;They and the torrent-curtain wide,All rosy-hued, it seemed, with sunset’s glow.——But what is this!—no roar, no soundDisturbs that torrent’s hush profound!The wanderers near and nearer come—Still is the mighty Cataract dumb!A thousand fairy lights may shimmerWith tender sheen, with glossy glimmer,O’er curve advanced and salient edgeOf many a luminous water-ledge;A thousand slanting shadows paleMay fling their thin transparent veilO’er deep recess and shadowy dentIn many a watery stair’s descent:Yet, mellow-bright, or mildly dim,Both lights and shades—both dent and rim—Each wavy streak, each warm snow-tress—Stand rigid, mute and motionless!No faintest murmur—not a sound—Relieves that Cataract’s hush profound;No tiniest bubble, not a flakeOf floating foam is seen to breakThe smoothness where it meets the Lake:
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