POHUTUKAWA.

Auckland Star, Volume XXII, Issue 305, 24 December 1891, Page 6 (Supplement)

POHUTUKAWA.

'Tis not the Holly red I sing 'Neath Albion's snowy skies ; Nor yeb the Rose, that blushee sweet For lustrous Persian eye 3 ; Nor yet the stately Palm that waves O'er Asiatic dome,

Bub the dear old Native Xmas Flower Of my New Zealand home.

O'er-arched wibh blue, in golden days On many a cliff and bight With gnarled branchos, far outspread, Bedecked with tassels bright. I love thee well, I love thee well pohutukawa Tree ; From infancy a subtle spell blossom cast o'er me.

Is it because I love the Sea ? The sea thou loveab so— Oft bending o'er until the depths Reflect thy crimson glow ; Or mad, and merry little waves Veil thee with silver spray, Dancing in gayest, Elfin sport, On some fair Xmas Day.

If thou had'st bloomed on classic soil Where Sappho stirred the soul, Or by the lone, wild Orcades Where Ossian's echoes roll; Or even in the good old Land, When Royal Alfred sang, When Baron's Hall and Lady's voice With merry music rang.

Thy fame had reached to other shores, -Lad men had talked of thee, Our own Pohutulcawa, Beside the summer sea. For worthy art thou meed of praise As myrtle tree or lime, As olive tree or sandalwood Of cloudless Orient clime.

But far amid the ocean wide, And far adown the days, Where shall we find bhe voice, the harp, To sound abroad thy praise ? And yeb, righb well we love to see Thy plumy, rich array, Oh, breeof sunny metn'ries, And Southern Xmas Day ! The green karaka's golden fruit Is ripening in the sun ; Red rata wreathes the kauri Where creeks in shadow run. The white clematis long ago Hath lost her starry flowers ; Pohutukawa's crimson plumes Must deck our Christmas bowors. M. A. Sinclair. lObh December, 1891.