Dunedin in the Gloaming
Like a black, enamoured King whispered low the thunder
To the lights of Roslyn, terraced far asunder:
Hovered low the sister cloud in wild, warm wonder.
“O my love, Dunedin town, the only, the abiding!
Who can look undazzled up where the Norn is riding, —
Watch the sword of destiny from the scabbard gliding!
“Dark and rich and ringing true — word and look for ever;
Taking to her woman heart all forlorn endeavour;
Heaven’s sea about her feet, not the bounded river!”
“Sister of the mountain mist, and never to be holden
With the weary sophistries that dimmer eyes embolden, —
O the dark Dunedin town, shot with green and golden!”
Then a silver pioneer netted in the rift,
Leaning over Maori Hill, dreaming in the lift,
Dropped her starry memories through the passioned drift: —
“Once — I do remember them, the glory and the garden,
Ere the elder stars had learnt God’s mystery of pardon,
Ere the youngest, I myself, had seen the flaming warden —
“Once even after even I stole ever shy and early
To mirror me within a glade of Eden cool and pearly,
Where shy and cold and holy ran a torrent sought but rarely.
“And fondly could I swear that this my glade had risen newly, — Burst the burning desert tomb wherein she lieth truly, To keep an Easter with the birds and me who loved her duly.”
Wailing, laughing, loving, hoar, spake the lordly ocean:
“You are sheen and steadfastness: I am sheen and motion,
Gulfing argosies for whim, navies for a notion.
“Sleep you well, Dunedin Town, though loud the lulling lyre is; Lady of the stars terrene, where quick the human fire is, Lady of the Maori pines, the turrets, and the eyries!”