track of the sea-gull's call,
The sea is our mother, the cloud is our brother,
the waves are our comrades all.
What though we toss at the fall of the sun
where the hand of the sea-god drives?
He who holds the storm by the hair, will hide
in his breast our lives.

Sweet is the shade of the cocoanut glade, and
the scent of the mango grove,
And sweet are the sands at the full o' the
moon with the sound of the voices we love.
But sweeter, O brothers, the kiss of the spray
and the dance of the wild foam's glee:
Row, brothers, row to the blue of the verge,
where the low sky mates with the sea.



THE SNAKE-CHARMER

Whither dost thou hide from the magic of my flute-call?
In what moonlight-tangled meshes of perfume,
Where the clustering keovas guard the squirrel's slumber,
Where the deep woods glimmer with the jasmine's bloom?

I'll feed thee, O beloved, on milk and wild red honey,
I'll bear thee in a basket of rushes, green and white,
To a palace-bower where golden-vested maidens
Thread with mellow laughter the petals of delight.