Subtle, wise hands of women, over whom

The earth had long laid flowers.

In the land

Where history is but a charming tale

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Droned by old men at twilight, future days

Pleasantly certain as the next repast,

Where gods and goddesses appear as birds,

Trees, plants or moonlight, gently rising tide,

And shining girdle of leaves,—all homely things,

Which hold the people's hearts.—In this fair land

Taka was born. Thro' sixteen years of moon

And tropic sun she blossomed in the air.

Chilled by no frost, the world unconsciously

Mirrored her sweetness back to her. The sun

Had kissed her skin to a warm topaz; rare

As dusky wealth of Autumn, her sweet breast,

Gleaming and bare, was hung with ropes of flowers

Yellow and white, and in her curling hair

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