The Desolate Star and other poems (Christchurch: Whitcombe and Tombs, 1929): 15.
1I am tired of all voices. Friend and fool
2Have come too nearly with me to the shrine
3That is the secret kept by wind and pine.
4Now, when the shadowy hands of dusk are cool
5About my eyes, shall silence like a god
6Drive them with whips of starlight from his stairs.
7Only the small grass striving in its clod,
8Only the stream, that fragile moonlight bears
9Like blossoms on its breast, move in this place,
10All earth lies still as some beloved face
11Whose dreaming mouth and deep-curved eyelids make
12Bridges to God that lightest sound would break,
14Yet if through darkening trees you came at last,
16And in your eyes the blessing of the moon,
17I think it would be well. I think our greeting
18Would be as quiet as two rivers meeting,
19Which, drawn together, sparkling up in foam,
20Slide into one bright seeking; and our home
21Should be the furthest longing of pale seas,
22Beyond the purple caverns of the trees.
Publication Start Year:
Christchurch Sun, May 24, 1929
RPO poem Editors:
Cameron La Follette
Data entry: Sharine Leung