New Zealand Verse/Emigravit
VII.
Emigravit.
Mountain lilies shine
Far up against the snow,
And the ratas twine
On wooded slopes below.
Rata and clematis
Sweet as bush may hold;
While honey-loving wild birds kiss
The kowhai’s cups of gold.
Dear and fair shall all of these
Henceforth to children be:
But ah! my childhood’s flowers
Are far away from me.
Far up against the snow,
And the ratas twine
On wooded slopes below.
Rata and clematis
Sweet as bush may hold;
While honey-loving wild birds kiss
The kowhai’s cups of gold.
Dear and fair shall all of these
Henceforth to children be:
But ah! my childhood’s flowers
Are far away from me.
In an English lane,
Where the primrose patches blow,
And the sweet spring rain
Hangs jewels high and low.
Where the primrose patches blow,
And the sweet spring rain
Hangs jewels high and low.
Homely flowers set
Where our farmsteads rise,
Make an England yet
Under sunny southern skies.
Lilac scent is blown
With wattle on the breeze;
September bids the leaves grow broad
On happy English trees;
And apple-orchards smile again
In sweet, familiar show—
But in my heart is mourning
For the scenes of long ago.
Where our farmsteads rise,
Make an England yet
Under sunny southern skies.
Lilac scent is blown
With wattle on the breeze;
September bids the leaves grow broad
On happy English trees;
And apple-orchards smile again
In sweet, familiar show—
But in my heart is mourning
For the scenes of long ago.
When the reeds grew high,
And the cowslips in the grass;
And my young love and I
Saw the springtime pass.
And the cowslips in the grass;
And my young love and I
Saw the springtime pass.
Homely blossoms grow
In our graveyard near the sea,
Where my love lies low,
With a place beside for me.
Pansy blooms and pinks ;
The columbine’s quaint bell;
Rosemary for remembrance
(Pray, love, remember well !);
But ah! my happy ghost must walk,
If happy ghosts may be,
In an English lane or meadow
With wild flowers growing free.
In our graveyard near the sea,
Where my love lies low,
With a place beside for me.
Pansy blooms and pinks ;
The columbine’s quaint bell;
Rosemary for remembrance
(Pray, love, remember well !);
But ah! my happy ghost must walk,
If happy ghosts may be,
In an English lane or meadow
With wild flowers growing free.
In an English lane,
Where the primrose patches blow,
And the sweet spring rain
Hangs jewels high and low.
Where the primrose patches blow,
And the sweet spring rain
Hangs jewels high and low.