So she waited.
In her slim hands she held a polished cup,
The shell of cocoanut, which caught the light
Like a brown pool. The toil of many days
Had turned the tawny shade to warmest black
In gradual depths as shaded Taka's cheek;
With perfumed oil her fingers gave caress
And waked the hidden pictures in the grain,
The yellow sand, the dusky amber girl,
The brown perfected in the shining globe.
Earth's monotones are justified in this.
Close to her lolled small Hopa, blithe and gay
As a young cricket, teasing all the rest
With her sharp wit; often she dropped her work--
The threading of bright flowers into wreaths--
To look across the waves, and suddenly
She called, "A sail, a little sail," and all
Followed her pointing fingers. Far away,
Tossed like a feather, black against the sky,
Hovered a tiny craft, its unknown lines
Marked it as stranger, and the maidens all
Curiously watched its coming to the shore.
All night the little shell with ceaseless dip
And pause, and rise and dip again, had borne
The trackless trade winds. Tui Tua Kau,
"King of the Reefs," had ventured over far
From Tonga's shore. Caught by a wanton gale,
His idle racing, lengthened in a whim
To cheat his laughing mates, grew a wild flight.
The frail canoe seemed, on the angry sea,
A sweet rose petal blown across the night.
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