Hawaiian Hilltop (Taggard collection)/The Tourist
THE TOURIST
He saw the hula flower in her hairDrop to her bosom where it rose and fell:Forgotten was her lover; slow her stareFelt for his eyes; her warm body's smell—The yellow-stamen perfume on her breath,The poison heavy sleepiness of deathMade all her figure's slender golden graceSeem like a censer in an altared place.
Swinging she danced the hula, and the moonHung on the mountain honeying the night:Her dress of flowers whirled about her—strewnAlong the grass the fire-petals died.Then like a bat against that disc of lightLeaped up her lover, and the lonely wideHollow and shadow echoed as he cried.