My Skiff and I.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXI, Issue I, 4 July 1903, Page 63

My Skiff and I.

AFTERNOON ON THE BEACH. BY OLIVE TILLY, A.C. Where the sun is falling brightly, And the south wind kisses lightly The tusocks and the seaweed On the sand, I lie, and its embrace Is not upon my face, And burns the pohutukawa In my hand. But my skiff is in the shade. The planks of it were made To kiss the cooling water, Not the sun: So I lift her from the heat. And slip the sliding seat. And place her on the sand Where shadows run.

The pohutukawa above us Is a brilliant blaze of rod, The sliding seat’s a cushion. To rest my weary head, In place of pillow softer It standeth me in stead.

And through the summer sun. We see ttie purple range, Wp hear the mighty ocean On the bar. As It breaks in ceaseless glory, While its billows white and hoary, Bring us many a song and story From afar.

And the sea-gulls whirl and splash In the water like a flash, And then to rocky cliff They speed away; To one another crying. They whirl about —are flying In the brilliant glorious heat Of summer day.

So white the shells are gleaming. And down the cliff there’s streaming A trickling, silver streamlet On its way. To join the mighty ocean. To live in ceaseless motion— But th:' bar is moaning now Across the bay.

A long ground swell is breaking. Is rolling up the sand: Is the ocean vexed and angry At meotinc thus the land? Is it sullen at the curbing Of God’s Almighty Hand?

World it roll forever onward. With «ts grand and mighty roar? Would it swep all things before it? Would it wr°ck tlm cliff and shore? World then its dreary moaning Turn to song for evermore?

If it rolled in ceuseles dory. If it met no rock or shore. Would it shout aloud its story? Would its mystic treasure store open? Would its heart B« glad for evermore?

Oh. skiff of mine! for meaning Of the ocean’s thund’rous song. Have I lain among the tussocks. And listened keen and loQg. But, skiff of mine, my visions Are always—ever—wrong.

When it breaks in glorious might. When its billows gleam and white Their tumbling flashing crests Against the blue, A song of praise and glory. Of distant lands a story. Is it wafted then in sunlight Fnto you?

When the sky is overcast. And ho wind is driving fast. And < itlng through the channel Like i knife; Do you hear the sea birds screaming? Do you read the mystic meaning? Do you bear a wail of sorrow In the strife?

Oh. skiff of mine! when sleeping, There’s a song, its misery keeping, That travels to my ears Across the night; I seek it In the day, Has It vanished!—Who can say? Has It fled before the joy Of morning light?

When the sun is brightly gleaming Then to me there is ,10 seeming Of misery, or of sorrow On the way. Has it vanished in the light? Has it fled before the bright, Intoxicating life, Of summer day?