In Kunimaipa's Hills

HERE is a lonely pine: •I pass from sign to sign In Kunimaipa’s hills, Treading a path that thrills; Down . . . down . . . down.

With never a sigh or frown, The air, the earth, the trees Laugh—and the breeze, the breeze With scented breath surrounds me.

Thus I walk securely And find at Sunset’s shrine — A tired man’s anodyne.

Here, then, a place to lie Under a friendly sky, On Kunimaipa’s floor, Lighted by stars galore.

Keep . . . keep . . . keep The silence that comes with sleep; For memories of the day Speak, and the words they say Delay me by the fire— “We are your soul’s desire: Go not to dreamless bed.

Not while the fire is red.”

Throb . . . throb . . . throb: The passion of drummers rob The velvet starry night Far from the camp-fire’s light.

The startled air is waiting With anxious heart debating; And reverie succumbs To boom! boom-boom! of drums.

Richard Humphries.

Papua.