At the forest's brim
The day was made alive by human flowers,
Sweet maidens who against the emerald
Showed warm and brown in purest harmony.
The fierce bright flame that is the tropic sea
Burned on their eyes and called them to its heart.
Like eager sea birds they forgot the land,
And, happy as the amorous waves, they gave
Their slim brown bodies to the sea's embrace.
They found them driftwood and astride they leapt
The feathered breakers, one with daring skill
Curved her sweet length to lie within the palm
Of a strong wave, and so was brought to shore.
"Taka," they cried, "has beaten us;" and all,
Shaking the bright drops from their shining hair,
With laugh and song sprang to the beach again,
Sunning themselves to languor ere they made
Their pretty toilet.
Some had gathered flowers
In fragrant wreaths, and others brought the grave
Work of the morning. Yet because the wine--
Sun of the South--gilds even toil, it seemed
A poet's pastime. Scarlet beans they threaded
Later to lie about some golden throat.
Deftly they wove fine mats, and deftly twisted
Bright witchery to adorn themselves, and snare
Men's eyes. With little songs they pearled the air.
Hush! it is Taka singing:--
"Far away
In a fountain dwelt a maiden;
When the silver moon was high
She was glad, but heavy laden
Was she when its light must die.
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