New Zealand Verse/Wednesday
For other versions of this work, see Wednesday.
XXIII.
Wednesday.
Come, let’s be friends—this day of bliss
Was surely meant for happy eyes—
Or sign, at least, an armistice
Till quarrelling winds arise.
Was surely meant for happy eyes—
Or sign, at least, an armistice
Till quarrelling winds arise.
On this green headland we will stay
Till day has spent his golden hoard;
See the cloud-shadows on the Bay
Mark out a chequer-board.
Till day has spent his golden hoard;
See the cloud-shadows on the Bay
Mark out a chequer-board.
These ships shall be our playing men;
Mine is the schooner, calm-bestead;
Yours is the brig that tacks in vain
To clear the Burning Head.
Mine is the schooner, calm-bestead;
Yours is the brig that tacks in vain
To clear the Burning Head.
Mine, mine has won! She fills, she soars,
She sails into the azure day;
A wild wind shakes the mountain doors,
And sweeps our board away!
She sails into the azure day;
A wild wind shakes the mountain doors,
And sweeps our board away!