| Rupert Brooke (1887–1915). Collected Poems. 1916. |
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| V. The South Seas |
| 10. Waikiki |
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| WARM perfumes like a breath from vine and tree | |
| Drift down the darkness. Plangent, hidden from eyes, | |
| Somewhere an eukaleli thrills and cries | |
| And stabs with pain the night’s brown savagery. | |
| And dark scents whisper; and dim waves creep to me, | 5 |
| Gleam like a woman’s hair, stretch out, and rise; | |
| And new stars burn into the ancient skies, | |
| Over the murmurous soft Hawaian sea. | |
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| And I recall, lose, grasp, forget again, | |
| And still remember, a tale I have heard, or known, | 10 |
| An empty tale, of idleness and pain, | |
| Of two that loved—or did not love—and one | |
| Whose perplexed heart did evil, foolishly, | |
A long while since, and by some other sea.
WAIKIKI, 1913. | |
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