And so, pensive in the still train, I follow
Your footsteps on the flying tussock
And through the dry manuka thickets,
And feel your heart warm to the hilltop winds
Won by sea-tales and a mild despair;
With you pierce the underbrow caves, forcing
......the creepers,
And rest in the grey untouched light, listening,
Hearing the fall of years
Soft and swift as the fall of leaves,
One-voiced and even as over stones the stream.
Then into time I follow, as you ride,
Circling at your shoulder or far
Watching your path through seasons, lives,
Or singly, or by dark-
Watch, but nothing here of you
Speaks the inexpressive face,
The rough skin of your country.
............................................Only the thorn
Alone on the parched rise, inhuman matagauri
Dry-green and fibrous, sorrowing,
The gum-trees that offer their flower, their sweet
......fruit
Lightly to the bright and dangerous wind,
These are eloquent
Here at the entrance to your country stir
Among the falling years that drift my eyes;
Until the recollected train
Moves on, past the landmarks, past the fallen years,
The passing land, the lives.