Waiata 7: He mea whakamāori, nā ngā Waiata a Wiremu Hākipia
A translation into Māori of William Shakespeare’s Sonnet 7
Rā te haeata hāpaia ana mai
Hiki ake te uru mura i te pae,
Whakarangatiratia ai e te katoa
He whakahere ā-arohanga.
Ā, tōna pikinga ki te puke poupou
(Rite te āhua ki te taitama ka pakeke haere)
Arohaina tonutia tōna ātaahua e ngā kamo tangata,
Arohia noa tāna haerenga hahana;
Engari, takarangi ana i tōna tūhoetanga,
Me te Hirinaki-ngoikore, ka ngēngē rawa te haere,
Huri kē atu ērā kamo kauanuanu,
Mai i tōna tōnga iho ki aronga kē:
Ka pērā hoki koe, teretere ana i tō ahiahi:
Ka mate whakangongotia, ki te noho huatea.
Lo! In the orient when the gracious light
Lifts up his burning head, each under eye
Doth homage to his new appearing sight
Serving with looks his sacred majesty.
And having climbed the steep-up heavenly hill,
Resembling strong youth in his middle age
Yet mortal looks adore his beauty still,
Attending on his golden pilgrimage.
But when from highmost pitch, with weary car,
Like feeble age, he reeleth from the day,
The eyes, ‘fore duteous, now converted are
From his low tract and look another way:
So thou, thyself out-going in thy noon,
Unlook’d on diest, unless thou get a son.
Image: Setting Sun, 1938-1946, by Thelma Kent. Purchased 1999. Te Papa. Catalogue entry here.