" Then,
Caught in a very ecstasy of love,
He laid his arms about a slender tree,
White in the moonlight, and his fevered cheek
Pressed on its cooling stem. With broken music
Shaken from his breast, he cried on Taka,--
Little happy words that mothers whisper
Above their sleeping babes. "If love could find
A way to utter love without her lips!"
Her lips, her eyes, the music of her voice--
Death would be easy on her golden heart.
He pictured her at twilight in the door
Of their far home, with eager arms outstretched
To welcome him from toil; how she would stand
A queen among the other women, crowned
With crimson flowers. How had he won her, he
A stranger to her people and her blood!
For in her veins the stream ran pale, but, "Ah,"
He cried, "my kiss shall burn it red again.
White she may be, a queen, my queen, she is,
And still my slave in fetters of my love."
Uhila watched him from the shadow.
Gods!
How young he was! as Vave, the swift-footed
Splendidly strong, an innocent god of war.
The morn with chilly lips laid myriad kisses
About his beauty, slipped thro' jealous leaves
Dripping with silver and fantastic fingers
Reached to caress him from the amorous trees.
Hither and forth he paced; Uhila's eyes
Ached with his hatred of the sight; at length
"Taka," Malua cried, and stretched his arms
Rigid in air, his face against the sky.
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