Page:A New Zealand verse (1906).pdf/85

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Fairyland.
49
On this green headland we will stay Till day has spent his golden hoard;See the cloud-shadows on the Bay Mark out a chequer-board.
These ships shall be our playing men; Mine is the schooner, calm-bestead;Yours is the brig that tacks in vain To clear the Burning Head.
Mine, mine has won! She fills, she soars, She sails into the azure day;A wild wind shakes the mountain doors, And sweeps our board away!

Anne Glenny Wilson.

XXIV.

Fairyland.

Do you remember that careless band,Riding o’er meadow and wet sea-sand, One autumn day, in a mist of sunshine,Joyously seeking for fairyland?
The wind in the tree-tops was scarcely heard,The streamlet repeated its one silver word, And far away, o’er the depths of woodland,Floated the bell of the parson-bird.
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