The Polynesian Maid
p. 47 · Read in the full issue
God gave thee beauty, nut-brown maid.
As soft and gentle as the dove.
With form divine, by nature crowned, And langorous eyes of love.
He made thee queen of all the isles, Caressed by Flora, happy sprite!
Bright flowers deck thy wonder-hair, As stars bedeck the summer night.
The ukelele’s plaintive notes Ring through the hills and flowery bays, The quaint sweet music of a race, Who fill with joy their nights and days.
“Through tears I see my lover cross The yellow sands that fringe the sea.
Will he, for whom I’d give my life, Offer his soft white hand to me?
“Perhaps embrace me, as they do In white-man’s land, when lovers meet?
He said my lips were made to kiss And give caresses that are sweet.
“Will his proud mother take me home To live with them in English town?
No! No! Alas, alas, my heart!
His hands are white —and mine are brown!
“I’ll take thee to my gold-green isle.
Where everlasting summer dwells; Where olden songs are sweeter far Than e’en the white man’s wedding bells.
“Then come with me, my lover true; We’ll be as free as birds on wing; I’ll be your loving nut-brown wife And you will be my husband-king!”
E. Skelton Garton.
Rabaul, N.G. 16/6/34.