VAGRANT VERSE
SPRING REVERIE. (Written for the Southland Times.) The hour is late and I have nothing dona, My dreams were pictures shadowed in the night, The world has travelled faster round the sun Than worlds should do—the years took sudden flight. What I have builded never got beyond The stage of sleep, fantastic, rarely real; A livery of sackcloth I have donned, I dared do nought—life was a lost appeal. The great have rushed across the barren earth Which flowered before their feet like Aaron’s rod, The poets have sung all sorrow into mirth, And used their loudest tones to call on God. I linger here beaide the stately march Of wakeful Time whose laughter is the stars Watching the grass crown Spring’s triumphal arch In glamorous tides that storm the cosmio Mars. —Southerner, Invercargill, August 24
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https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/ST19240826.2.22
Bibliographic details
Southland Times, Issue 19332, 26 August 1924, Page 4
Word Count
138VAGRANT VERSE Southland Times, Issue 19332, 26 August 1924, Page 4
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