THREE SONGS
THE SONG OF THE DEMENTED PRIEST
I put those things there.-See them burn.
The emerald the azure and the gold
Hiss and crack, the blues and greens of the world
As
if I were tired. Someone interferes
Everywhere with me. The clouds the clouds are torn
In ways I do not understand or love.
Licking my long lips, I looked upon God
And he flamed and he was friendlier
Than you were, and he was small. Showing me
Serpents and thin flowers; these were cold.
Dominion waved and glittered like the flare
From ice under a small sun. I wonder.
Aftenvard the violent and formal dancers
Came out, shaking their pithless heads.
I would instruct them but I cannot now,-–
Because of the elements. They rise and move,
I nod a dance arid they dance in the rain
In my red coat. I am the king of the dead.
THE SONG OF THE YOUNG HAWAIIAN
Ai, they all pass in front of me those girls!
Blazing and lazy colours. The swaying sun
Brushes the brown tips of them stiffly softly
And whispers me: Never take only one
As the yellow men the white the foreigners do.–
No no, I dance them all.
The old men come to me at dusk and say
"Hang from their perches now the ruined birds;
They will fall. We hear strange languages.
Rarely a child sings now." They cough and say
"We are a dying race." Ail should we be:
You will not marry me.
