Pan In Papua

LUANNI pipes upon the hill, Pipes a love-song, clear and shrill, Pipes a native melody, A reedy note of mystery; Swaying, as his fingers lift, To shake the reedpipe marred by rift.

A pause, and then a happy trill: Luanni pipes upon the hill.

Frigate birds fly—swooping low— Wheeling, turning, as they go, Darting o’er the green lagoon Where fish the women. And Talune, Who turns to wave; her heart stands still— Her new love greets her from the hill.

Alice Allen Innes.