I see your red-gold hair and know How white the hidden skin must be, Though sun-kissed face and fingers show The fervour of the noon-day glow, The keenness of the sea.

My longing fancies ebb and flow, Still circling constant unto this; My great desire (ah, whisper low) To plant on thy forbidden snow The rosebud of a kiss.

The scarlet flower would spread and grow, Your whiteness change and flush, Be still, my reckless heart, beat slow, 'T is but a dream that stirs thee so!) To one transparent blush.

Wings

Was it worth while to forego our wings To gain these dextrous hands ?

Truly they fashion us wonderful things As the fancy of man demands.

But--to fly! to sail through the lucid air From crest to violet crest Of these great grey mountains, quartz-veined and bare, Where the white clouds gather and rest.

Even to flutter from flower to flower,-- To skim the tops of the trees,-- In the roseate light of a sun-setting hour To drift on a sea-going breeze.

Ay, the hands have marvellous skill To create us curious things,-- Baubles, playthings, weapons to kill,-- But--I would we had chosen wings!

Song of the Parao (Camping-ground)

Heart, my heart, thou hast found thy home!

From gloom and sorrow thou hast come forth, Thou who wast foolish, and sought to roam 'Neath the cruel stars of the frozen North.

Thou hast returned to thy dear delights; The golden glow of the quivering days, The silver silence of tropical nights, No more to wander in alien ways.

Here, each star is a well-loved friend; To me and my heart at the journey's end.

These are my people, and this my land, I hear the pulse of her secret soul.

This is the life that I understand, Savage and simple and sane and whole.

Washed in the light of a clear fierce sun,-- Heart, my heart, the journey is done.

See! the painted piece of the skies, Where the rose-hued opal of sunset lies.

Hear the pa.s.sionate Koel calling From coral trees, where the dusk is falling.

See my people, slight limbed and tall.

The maiden's bosom they scorn to cover: The b.r.e.a.s.t.s 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 G.o.d-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, Lightly climbing the river-side path, Their soft hair knotted above their brows.

Elephants wade the darkening river, Their bells, which tinkle in minor thirds, Faintly sweet, like pa.s.sionate birds Whose warbling wakens a sense of pain,-- Thrill through the nerves and make them quiver,-- Heart, my heart, art thou happy again?

Here is beauty to feast thine eyes.

Here is the land of thy long desire.

See how the delicate spirals rise Azure and faint from the wood-fed fire.

Where the cartmen wearily share their food, Ere they, by their bullocks, lie down to rest.

Heart of mine, dost thou find it good This wide red road by the winds caressed?

This lone Parao, where the fireflies light?

These tom-toms, fretting the peace of night?

Heart, thou hast wandered and suffered much, Death has robbed thee, and Life betrayed, But there is ever a solace for such In that they are not lightly afraid.

The strength that found them the fire to love Finds them also the force to forget.

Thy joy in thy dreaming lives to prove Thou art not mortally wounded yet.

Here, 'neath the arch of the vast, clear sky, Where range upon range the remote grey hills Far in the distance recede and die, There is no s.p.a.ce for thy trivial ills.

On the low horizon towards the sea, Faint yet vivid, the lightnings play, The lucid air is kind as a kiss, The falling twilight is cool and grey.

What has sorrow to do with thee ?

Love was cruel? thou now art free.

Life unkind? it has given thee this!

The Tom-toms

Dost thou hear the tom-toms throbbing, Like a lonely lover sobbing For the beauty that is robbing him of all his life's delight?

Plaintive sounds, restrained, enthralling, Seeking through the twilight falling Something lost beyond recalling, in the darkness of the night.

Oh, my little, loved Firoza, Come and nestle to me closer, Where the golden-balled Mimosa makes a canopy above, For the day, so hot and burning, Dies away, and night, returning, Sets thy lover's spirit yearning for thy beauty and thy love.

Soon will come the rosy warning Of the bright relentless morning, When, thy soft caresses scorning, I shall leave thee in the shade.

All the day my work must chain me, And its weary bonds restrain me, For I may not re-attain thee till the light begins to fade.

But at length the long day endeth, As the cool of night descendeth His last strength thy lover spendeth in returning to thy breast, Where beneath the Babul nightly, While the planets shimmer whitely, And the fire-flies glimmer brightly, thou shalt give him love and rest.

Far away, across the distance, The quick-throbbing drums' persistence Shall resound, with soft insistence, in the pauses of delight, Through the sequence of the hours, While the starlight and the flowers Consecrate this love of ours, in the Temple of the Night.

Written in Cananore

I

Who was it held that Love was soothing or sweet?