New Zealand Verse/The Power of Death
CXV.
The Power of Death.
They said, “Beneath the iron spell of Death
The miser recks not for his golden store,
The craven’s heart doth quake with fear no more;
The warrior sleeps, while war drum thundereth;
The patriot, too, ’mid Freedom’s glorious strife;
The wanderer yearns not for his native heath,
The poet thrills not at Spring’s magic breath.”
But passively I heard. I thought of Life.
The miser recks not for his golden store,
The craven’s heart doth quake with fear no more;
The warrior sleeps, while war drum thundereth;
The patriot, too, ’mid Freedom’s glorious strife;
The wanderer yearns not for his native heath,
The poet thrills not at Spring’s magic breath.”
But passively I heard. I thought of Life.
But when they said, “Should, haply, Death thee slay
And she who is the star of thy Life’s night
Should come and call thy name, thou wouldst not heed;”
Then rushed on me like night on tropic day
The consciousness of all Death’s awful might.
I moaned, “O Death, thou potent art, indeed!”
And she who is the star of thy Life’s night
Should come and call thy name, thou wouldst not heed;”
Then rushed on me like night on tropic day
The consciousness of all Death’s awful might.
I moaned, “O Death, thou potent art, indeed!”