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Tight in the corner like a cougar-cat.
She had forgotten how she used to be
Before she was rebuked by the blind sea.

And Eric's blood was like a thing at feud
With all her languid color and her fair
Clusters of flowers;—so he fled her mood,
Followed his father, always, everywhere,
A dark man at his heels,—a funny pair
To everyone who saw Lehua frown
And watch them as they wandered up and down.

The men around would offer her a smoke.
—A smuggler takes no opium, she said.
Suppose old Eric came before I woke?
She was shrewd now and always kept her head.
She wore an amber flower and a red
Silk holuku.—The smoke is made for men;
When one pipe's taken, there's no stopping then.

Some few knew why she left the smoke alone,
And burned a lantern nightly at the door,
Her boy was strong as steel and fully grown
And Eric nursed a leper's snowy sore.
They would outlive him Jong, and what was more
Live as they chose to live on Eric's gold—
And Eric knew they watched him growing old.

Eric the elder a leper! And she
Who shared the labor of the opium trade
In love with nothing brutal like the sea,
A fragile woman, only half afraid,
Something between a mother and a maid.