Verses from Maoriland/Love
LOVE
From out the wonder-country
He rides, whose name is Love,
And recks not whether sunlight glows,
Or shy stars show above!
From out the wonder-country
He travels far and fast,
And joy there is in hut, or hall,
When Love comes home at last.
He rides, whose name is Love,
And recks not whether sunlight glows,
Or shy stars show above!
From out the wonder-country
He travels far and fast,
And joy there is in hut, or hall,
When Love comes home at last.
His reins are Pride and Prudence,
His spur it is Desire;
His horse’s hoofs are shod with Hope
Well-wrought in Passion’s fire.
No matter what the colour be,
Or white, or black, or roan,
There’s not a steed Love will not mount,
For he is Lord alone!
His spur it is Desire;
His horse’s hoofs are shod with Hope
Well-wrought in Passion’s fire.
No matter what the colour be,
Or white, or black, or roan,
There’s not a steed Love will not mount,
For he is Lord alone!
There is no lock can stay him,
He laughs at bolt and bar;
The winds are but his messengers,
The waves his servants are.
He climbs the white Sierra,
He clears the convent wall,
He clatters up the palace steps,
For Love is Lord of all.
He laughs at bolt and bar;
The winds are but his messengers,
The waves his servants are.
He climbs the white Sierra,
He clears the convent wall,
He clatters up the palace steps,
For Love is Lord of all.
Alas, alas! the many
Who linger,—even as I!—
Who wait, and watch, the livelong night,
And hear him hurry by!
And drear is life for ever,
And sad the looking back,
For come what may, by dark, or day,
Love turns not on his track.
Who linger,—even as I!—
Who wait, and watch, the livelong night,
And hear him hurry by!
And drear is life for ever,
And sad the looking back,
For come what may, by dark, or day,
Love turns not on his track.
Ah, Love! from out the distance
I hear the ring of hoofs,
Now loud,—now low,—now fast,—now slow,
But sure towards our roofs!
And comes he here to tarry?
Or will he gallop past?
O royal Love, O Master,
Come home to me at last!
I hear the ring of hoofs,
Now loud,—now low,—now fast,—now slow,
But sure towards our roofs!
And comes he here to tarry?
Or will he gallop past?
O royal Love, O Master,
Come home to me at last!