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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=366061" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>An Old Colonist's Reverie</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Dustily over the highway pipes the loud nor'-wester at morn, <br>Wind and the rising sun, and waving tussock and corn; <br>It brings to me days gone by when first in my ears it rang, <br>The wind is the voice of my home, and I think of the songs it sang <br>When, fresh from the desk and ledger, I crossed the long leagues of sea -- <br>&quot;The old worn world is gone and the new bright world is free.&quot; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The wide, wild pastures of old are fading and passing away, <br>All over the plain are the homes of the men who have come to stay -- <br>I sigh for the good old days in the station whare again; <br>But the good new days are better -- I would not be heard to complain; <br>It is only the wind that cries with tears in its voice to me <br>Of the dead men low in the mould who came with me over the sea. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Some of them down in the city under the marble are laid, <br>Some on the bare hillside in the mound by the lone tree shade, <br>And some in the forest deeps of the west in their silence lie, <br>With the dark pine curtain above shutting out the blue of the sky. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And many have passed from my sight, whither I never shall know, <br>Swept away in the rushing river or caught in the mountain snow; <br>All the old hands are gone who came with me over the sea, <br>But the land that we made our own is the same bright land to me. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">There are dreams in the gold of the kowhai, and when ratas are breaking <br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;in bloom <br>I can hear the rich murmur of voices in the deeps of the fern-shadowed gloom. <br>Old memory may bring me her treasures from the land of the blossoms of May, <br>But to me the hill daisies are dearer and the gorse on the river bed grey; <br>While the mists on the high hilltops curling, the dawn-haunted <br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;haze of the sea, <br>To my fancy are bridal veils lifting from the face of the land of the free. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The speargrass and cabbage trees yonder, the honey-belled flax in its bloom, <br>The dark of the bush on the sidings, the snow-crested mountains that loom <br>Golden and grey in the sunlight, far up in the cloud-fringed blue, <br>Are the threads with old memory weaving and the line of my life <br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;running through; <br>And the wind of the morning calling has ever a song for me <br>Of hope for the land of the dawning in the golden years to be.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=David+McKee+Wright">David McKee Wright</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=366061" data-title="An Old Colonist's Reverie de David McKee Wright" data-description="Dustily over the highway pipes the loud nor'-wester at morn, 
Wind and the rising sun, and waving tussock and corn; 
It brings to me days gone by when first in my ears it rang, 
The wind is the voice of my home, and I think of the songs it sang 
W..."></div>
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