New Zealand Verse/The Wit
CXXXVII.
The Wit.
While the dull talk idly streams,
He sits upon the bank and dreams,
Till some careless word that’s said
Finds a fellow in his head.—
He sits upon the bank and dreams,
Till some careless word that’s said
Finds a fellow in his head.—
He with one great bound is borne
From Dent Blanche to Matterhorn;
And his passage is so fast
Over that abyss so vast,
He has not seen how bluely shines
The deep gulf in his pelt of pines,
Nor heard the waste and watery voice
Wherewith the wind-washed pines rejoice.
From Dent Blanche to Matterhorn;
And his passage is so fast
Over that abyss so vast,
He has not seen how bluely shines
The deep gulf in his pelt of pines,
Nor heard the waste and watery voice
Wherewith the wind-washed pines rejoice.
In a moment’s thousandth part,
In the beat of the bee’s heart,
He has flown it: ’tis a way
Where the kite and eagle play.
Tho’ the chamois, lithe and fine,
Passes it ’twixt wake and dine;
Tho’ the dun geier, gaunt and lean,
Flash across that gulf between
Sol’s first footing of his bed
And the covering of his head,
What he’s compassed in one stride
Is two days for the Zermatt guide.
In the beat of the bee’s heart,
He has flown it: ’tis a way
Where the kite and eagle play.
Tho’ the chamois, lithe and fine,
Passes it ’twixt wake and dine;
Tho’ the dun geier, gaunt and lean,
Flash across that gulf between
Sol’s first footing of his bed
And the covering of his head,
What he’s compassed in one stride
Is two days for the Zermatt guide.