Robin Hyde Poems

The little pools of starlight splash
Against the poplars’ slender lines;
The moon is like a golden comb,
Caught in the tresses of the pines.
...

A way lies over these blue fields of sleep,
Lingers in short, sweet grasses, glimmers white
Through woods of silver birch trees, where in deep
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I sit beside a little shadowy stream,
And try to tell in words my thoughts of you.
It is in vain.
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Little winds of dawn come gently to them,
All the living stars, the other stars.
Dim rains passionate with scents bedew them,
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I saw the little leaves that have
So gay a dance, their tiny veins
Skilfully painted by some grave,
Firm hand, that spared not love or pains.
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Here is no joy, to gleam like jewelled waters
Of those blue lakes that desert-goers find,
No little rain of peace, no dew of dreaming,
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I am tired of all voices. Friend and fool
Have come too nearly with me to the shrine
That is the secret kept by wind and pine.
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Wind, blow softly to-day, lest you should lift
Ten years’ careful curtain before our eyes
Wind of Spring, go lightly as petals drift;
...