Waiata 33: He mea whakamāori, nā ngā Waiata a Wiremu Hākipia
A translation into Māori of William Shakespeare’s Sonnet 33
He tini ngero ngā haeata kua kitea nei,
Patipati ana i ngā hiwi maunga ki ngā hihi rangatira
Kihikihi ana i te ngahere ki te kanohi kōura, ka kākāriki ai,
Whakakōura ana i ngā awa waimeha ki te toi tapu o ruānuku;
Mea rawa ake, tukua noa mai he tini kapua pōkerekere
Kia tāwhai haere mā runga i tō Tamanui kanohi,
Huna haere ai i ōna kamo i te ao pōuriuri,
Toropuku te haere, te ngaro ki te rua, i te whakakino nei:
Hei aha koa, i tētahi haeata, ko tōku nei tama ka tīaho mai
Ki taku rae, i te ātanga kitakita rawa
Engari, auē, ko tōku mō te haora kotahi noa iho
Kua āraia kē i ahau e ngā kapua o te rangi.
Heoi anō, korekau taku whakakino i taku tōrere:
He hē tō Tama-ā-Rangi,
He hē hoki tō Tama-ā-Nuku.
Full many a glorious morning have I seen
Flatter the mountain tops with sovereign eye,
Kissing with golden face the meadows green,
Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy;
Anon permit the basest clouds to ride
With ugly rack on his celestial face,
And from the forlorn world his visage hide,
Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace:
Even so my sun one early morning did shine,
With all triumphant splendour on my brow;
But out, alack, he was but one hour mine,
The region cloud hath mask’d him from me now.
Yet him for this, my love no whit disdaineth;
Suns of the world may stain when heaven’s sun staineth.
Image: Black Clouds Dispersing, Wellington, circa 1907, by Fred Brockett. Purchased 1957. Te Papa. Catalogue entry here.