Fox Footprints/In Siamese Waters
In Siamese Waters
There is an island like a sickle moonThat lies deserted in a tropic sea,Half-finished terraces of masonryLead up to heights that know the cool monsoon,Sweet odors hold the silence in a swoon,For everywhere the frangipanni tree,Twisted and leafless, but all blossomy,Traces its scented shadow in the noon.
Paths lead to shaded grottoes and small covesMeant for a royal lady's bathing-place,But no one moves among the warm strange groves,The shining sea reflects no leaning face,There are not even ghosts, or so it seems,To wake the spot from its enchanted dreams.