THREE POEMS by John W. Wilson

Te Ao Hou We stand at the door of a decaying house Gazing into the evening of legends; A figure passes in the darkness there, We search for the sign of his adorning— This is the new world, Maui passes— A surveyor in the new street.

Nga Wai Life is as the waters of the sea; As the land that stretches far into the distance; The eye cannot see the end of it, The ear cannot hear the last wave; That space alone is filled With waters and the works of God: God alone sifts the waters of the sea.

Te Hekenga Ko te ahi kai koura a Tama ki te rangi: Te Riu o-Mahu; na, Ko Te Taumanu o Te Waka nui a Maui. A name has been given to the setting sun, A name has been given the waters of the sea That leap in foam at Panau; A name for the East; a name for the darkness— But no name is given to the empty sorrow of the cold house: the dead ashes the deserted nets That caught the sun's love on the sea at O Hau. The dead without names are like the fruitless trees, the barren Karaka; the white driftwood on the dried sand. A name is given to the hawk in the high air, But no name is given to the forgotten song. O Chieftain, when you stood here, O Tama, O Tama, Beyond the waters in the days beyond: You gave a name—a life you gave to the land— A prayer to the shimmering sun.