Verses from Maoriland/Two Sonnets
TWO SONNETS
I
Alas, that quiet graveyard on the hill!
Thither the mourners with their burdens go,
Their heads bow’d down, their footsteps sad and slow;
There lie my dead;—and yet beside the rill,
Young children laugh their loudest as they will,
And happy lovers wander to and fro:
Life has no break in its continuous flow,
And on these mounds the sunshine streameth still.
Thither the mourners with their burdens go,
Their heads bow’d down, their footsteps sad and slow;
There lie my dead;—and yet beside the rill,
Young children laugh their loudest as they will,
And happy lovers wander to and fro:
Life has no break in its continuous flow,
And on these mounds the sunshine streameth still.
But what avails it that the glory lies
Upon the hill? what pleasure can it give
Unto my dead? or unto me who live
Bereav’d? Alas, I find no solace there,
Nor have I any comfort anywhere,—
The race endures,—the individual dies!
Upon the hill? what pleasure can it give
Unto my dead? or unto me who live
Bereav’d? Alas, I find no solace there,
Nor have I any comfort anywhere,—
The race endures,—the individual dies!
II
The lilies bud and blossom, droop and die;
The apples redden, mellowing to decay;
The noiseless years steal on, and glide away;
And here the living leave their dead,—while I,
I know full well mine own time draweth nigh.
Yet welcome we the New Year as we may,
And Spring shows fairer flowers, day by day,
And fresh fruits ripen as the months roll by.
The apples redden, mellowing to decay;
The noiseless years steal on, and glide away;
And here the living leave their dead,—while I,
I know full well mine own time draweth nigh.
Yet welcome we the New Year as we may,
And Spring shows fairer flowers, day by day,
And fresh fruits ripen as the months roll by.
Ah, what avails it that we leave our love
With our lone dead upon the quiet hill?
Time brings at last a medicine that cures
All heartache; and the wide world’s life is still
Eternal as the silent stars above,—
The individual dies,—the race endures!
With our lone dead upon the quiet hill?
Time brings at last a medicine that cures
All heartache; and the wide world’s life is still
Eternal as the silent stars above,—
The individual dies,—the race endures!