Page:Words for the Chisel (1926).pdf/21

For haole sailors. When her song was sung
And danced her dance, Eric would seem to rouse
From lethargy, until a long carouse
Ended in silence, while she smiled and darted
Beyond his grasp. And he grew sullen hearted.

She knew he was a smuggler and a cold
White-angered Swede, and not the man for her;
But still she wore her flowers white and gold,
And shrugged at him, but shunned him oftener
With feints to snare him till she saw him stir
Like a lean tiger roused from wary sleeping,
So Eric rose and came, stalking and creeping.

What Eric wanted more than simply some
Woman or other, neither he nor she
Knew. The waited, eyed her, narrow and dumb;
Another white man took her on his knee,
And there they sat,—furtive and treacherous three,
Till she, Lehua, rose and fled far out
On the long pier, and paused. And faced about.

She married him and hated him. He strode
Like some rude giant in their narrow den;
His head would sway the lamps that gloomed and glowed
Faint in the hazy cloud. The prostrate men
Stirred at his proddings, drowsed to sleep again;
Eric would bang the door, forgetting her
Go out to wharves where ships and seamen were,

And she would sit aside and sigh and dream,
Dream as she lingered at the window-pane;