The light
Lay on her swelling throat, and showed her eyes
Starred like a tropic night. The stranger's hand
Trembled a little, and his quick-drawn breath
Carried a message from his breast to hers.
They left the hut together. From the clear
Bright heat of noon they turned, and took their way
Into the greenly silent forest. Leaves
Flickered above wet blossoms, simple sounds
Of homely labor borne upon the breeze
Made them the more alone. They spoke of Love,
A mighty word to ease the strange new pain
Born in their hearts.
Sudden the path grew wide--
A little space deprived of flowers and life--
"The house of sandal wood," said Taka, pointing,
And there, the last home of a chief, it lay.
White shells and snowy pebbles girt him round
In his great mould of clay, and all his spears
And clubs of war kept vigil, showing still
His might in battle. Shrill the parrot's scream
Rang on the desolation, and the trees
Seemed to withdraw their shadows from the place
Sacred to death, the violent crime of war.
A little shadow darkened Taka's heart,
Could this sweet world contain both death and love?
She sought Malua's eyes to be assured
That love lives always.
He had gone before
To hold the leaves for her to pass, and softly
She came, and like a golden butterfly
Her small hand fluttered down upon his arm.
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