A way to utter love without her lips!"

Her lips, her eyes, the music of her voice—

Death would be easy on her golden heart.

He pictured her at twilight in the door

Of their far home, with eager arms outstretched

To welcome him from toil; how she would stand

A queen among the other women, crowned

With crimson flowers. How had he won her, he

A stranger to her people and her blood!

For in her veins the stream ran pale, but, "Ah,"

He cried, "my kiss shall burn it red again.

White she may be, a queen, my queen, she is,

And still my slave in fetters of my love."

Uhila watched him from the shadow.

Gods!

47

How young he was! as Vave, the swift-footed

Splendidly strong, an innocent god of war.

The morn with chilly lips laid myriad kisses

About his beauty, slipped thro' jealous leaves

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