Page:A New Zealand verse (1906).pdf/90
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54
The Passing of the Forest.
Lost is the sense of noiseless, sweet escape From dust of stony plains, from sun and gale,When the feet tread where shade and silence drape The stems with peace beneath the leafy veil,Or where a pleasant rustling stirs each shape Creeping with whisperings that rise and failThrough labyrinths half-lit by chequered playOf light on golden moss now burned away.
Gone are the forest tracks, where oft we rode Under the silver fern-fronds climbing slow,In cool, green tunnels, though fierce noontide glowed And glittered on the tree-tops far below.There, ’mid the stillness of the mountain road, We just could hear the valley river flow,Whose voice through many a windless summer dayHaunted the silent woods, now passed away.
Drinking fresh odours, spicy wafts that blew, We watched the glassy, quivering air asleep,Midway between tall cliffs that taller grew Above the unseen torrent calling deep;Till, like a sword, cleaving the foliage through, The waterfall flashed foaming down the steep,White, living water, cooling with its sprayDense plumes of fragile fern, now scorched away.
Keen is the axe, the rushing fire streams bright, Clear, beautiful, and fierce it speeds for Man,The Master, set to change and stern to smite, Bronzed pioneer of nations. Ay, but scanThe ruined beauty wasted in a night, The blackened wonder God alone could plan,And builds not twice! A bitter price to payIs this for progress—beauty swept away.