Booty - Eileen Duggan
Ah not as plains that spread into us slowly
But as that mountain flinging at the skies
And not as merchantmen which trundle in the offing
But as a privateer that boards a prize,
Let song come always at me and not to me
And, coming, let it plunder, burn, and flay,
For beauty like heaven by violence is taken
And the violent shall bear it away.
O'Sullivan, V. (Ed.). (1979). An anthology of twentieth century New Zealand poetry. Wellington: Oxford University Press.