Page:A New Zealand verse (1906).pdf/78

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42
The Pink and White Terraces.
Along that shining surface moveNo ripples; not the slightest swellRolls o’er the mirror darkly green,Where, every feature limned so well—Pale, silent and serene as death—The cataract’s image hangs beneathThe cataract—but not more serene,More phantom-silent than is seenThe white rose-hued reality above.
They paddle past—for on the rightAnother Cataract comes in sight;Another broader, grander flightOf steps—all stainless, snowy-bright!They land—their curious way they trackNear thickets made by contrast black;And then that wonder seems to beA Cataract carved in Parian stone,Or any purer substance known—Agate or milk-chalcedony!Its showering snow-cascades appearLong ranges bright of stalactite,And sparry frets and fringes white,Thick-falling, plenteous, tier o’er tier;Its crowding stairs, in bold ascentPiled up that silvery-glimmering height,Are layers, they know—accretions slowOf hard silicious sediment:For as they gain a rugged road,And cautious climb the solid rime,Each step becomes a terrace broad—Each terrace a wide basin brimmedWith water, brilliant, yet in hueThe tenderest, delicate harebell-blueDeepening to violet! Slowly climbThe twain, and turn from time to time
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