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 Loose thy hair in its soft profusion, Let thy lashes caress thy cheek,— These are the things that express thy spirit, What is the need to explain or speak?

Drifting, drifting along the River, Under the light of a wan low moon, Steady, the paddles; Boatmen, steady,— Why should we reach the sea so soon?

See where the low spit cuts the water, What is that misty wavering light? Only the pale datura flowers Blossoming through the silent night.

What is the fragrance in thy tresses? 'T is the scent of the champa's breath; The meaning of champa bloom is passion— And of datura—death!

Sweet are thy ways and thy strange caresses, That sear as flame, and exult as wine. But I care only for that wild moment When my soul arises and reaches thine.

Wistful voices of wild birds calling— Far, faint lightning towards the West,— Twinkling lights of a Tyah homestead,— Ruddy glow on a girl's bare breast—

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