New Zealand Verse/At Home
For other versions of this work, see At Home (Wilson).
LXXXVII.
At Home.
High in her little rose-clad room
Niched in the winding stair,
My lady sits and looks abroad
On the wind’s thoroughfare.
Niched in the winding stair,
My lady sits and looks abroad
On the wind’s thoroughfare.
The roof is tined with cedar-wood,
The panels golden pine,
The lattice set with lozenges,
And hung with crimson fine.
The panels golden pine,
The lattice set with lozenges,
And hung with crimson fine.
The pear-tree wraps her oriel;
Musk fills the window-frame;
Her paroquet sits in the ring,
And twitters out her name.
Musk fills the window-frame;
Her paroquet sits in the ring,
And twitters out her name.
The circling landscape underneath
Glows through its misty veil;
The thunder-cloud against the wind
Beats up, a blackening sail.
Glows through its misty veil;
The thunder-cloud against the wind
Beats up, a blackening sail.
The sea, that shone like silver scales,
Fades, tarnished by its breath;
The shaking poplar turns her face
As in a wind of death.
Fades, tarnished by its breath;
The shaking poplar turns her face
As in a wind of death.
Still half the fields return the sun,
Still laughs the running wheat:
The bird sings on—one sheet of flame!
And now the thunders meet.
Still laughs the running wheat:
The bird sings on—one sheet of flame!
And now the thunders meet.
But up within the turret-room
How still it is, how warm!
Shut, like the water-lily’s cup
That closes in the storm.
How still it is, how warm!
Shut, like the water-lily’s cup
That closes in the storm.
A kitten coiled upon the chair,
A half-wrought broidery,
Books on the wall, and passing dreams—
Perchance a dream of me!
A half-wrought broidery,
Books on the wall, and passing dreams—
Perchance a dream of me!
You hear no knock, no creaking door,
No foot upon the stair,
But love has stolen the key of thought,
Before you know he’s there.
No foot upon the stair,
But love has stolen the key of thought,
Before you know he’s there.