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 See my people, slight limbed and tall. The maiden's bosom they scorn to cover: The breasts that shall call and enthral her lover, Things of beauty, are free to all.

Free to the eyes, that think no shame That a girl should bloom like a forest flower. Who hold that Love is a sacred flame,— Outward beauty a God-like dower.

Who further regard it as no disgrace If loveliness lessen to serve the race, Nor point the finger of jesting scorn At her who carries the child unborn.

Ah, my heart, but we wandered far From the light of the slanting fourfold Star!

Oh, palm-leaf thatch, where the melon thrives Beneath the shade of the tamarind tree, Thou coverest tranquil, graceful lives, That want so little, that knew no haste, Nor the bitter goad of a too-full hour; Whose soft-eyed women are lithe and tall, And wear no garment below the knee, Nor veil or raiment above the waist, But the beautiful hair, that dowers them all, And falls to the ground in a scented shower.

The youths return from their swift-flowing bath, With the swinging grace that their height allows, 51