"Come, then, with me," said Taka, and the beach
Stretched from their feet, a ribbon that should bind
In its white length the heaven to the earth.
With delicate step she led him to the hut
Where old Akau gave him kindly greeting.
A little in the shadow, where the gourds
And strange sweet herbs--soft musty fragrances--
Hung swinging from the beams about her head,
Taka withdrew. Her wide eyes opened wide,
And, lightly folded on her golden breast,
Her two hands lay like flowers.
In the light
Bright as a sun god sat Malua listening
With greatest reverence to the aged man,
Who spoke to him of ancient, long dead things
While he displayed his wealth of burnished cups
Out of the splendid eld. "My son," he said,
"Yours is dim future, mine the deathless past;
Heroes have died for me and yet shall die,
And all the glory of the virgin earth
Yields up its sweets to me, for now I rest
And stretch my withered sinews in the sun
And wait for peaceful death; because your lips
Are innocent, and dawn is in your eyes,
I give you of my store the fairest treasure.
After my Taka, you have won my heart."
In his strong hand he laid a bowl; for this
The ages had paid toll, soft lightnings shone
From its brown glory, carved most royally.
He raised the kava bowl aloft, the sun
Struck on its shining rim, and straight as a spear
Shivered the dusk where Taka stood.
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