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Wild Roses of Maoriland.

Where straggling fences on some lonely hill,
The air, their fragrance with pure beauty fill,
By summer's breezes are their petals fanned,
The sweet wild roses of our Maoriland.
Around a vacant, sad, forgotten cot,
The only glimpse of beauty on the spot,
Where rafters crumble, foundations all decay,
The fragrance of the roses come to stay.
Upon a sad white fence down near the deep
Where one waits, sleeping their last tranquil sleep,
Tossed by Pacific's spray and golden sand,
Grow the wild roses of our Maoriland.

—Lottie C. Frame.

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