“No other man makes love like you,” she said:
His blood escaped in panic from her wound;
Through the dear mouth a dragon panted flame,
It lit the ancient treasures in the mound,
It tore him in four pieces in the bed—
No other lover, she said, was quite the same!
She did not see them there, the four men all
Wound in her arms, sharing his startled eyes:
Cocksure the Great Seducer crowed his song;
The virile bristles rustled down his thighs;
The golden feathers sprouted from his tail;
His heart’s bronze warders smacked their mighty gong.
But the Slave’s heart in that tremendous din
Burst counting the incredible troops of lust;
Her Old Boys’ Union, with beer and hearty jokes,
Held celebrations, invited him to join,
Published their names in alphabetical lists,
Danced round the bonfire of his burning sex.
The Observer smiling landed from his yacht,
Notebook in hand, rubbed noses with the chief.
“The native girl’s magnificent physique
Makes her insatiable in love,” he wrote.
The surf ran moaning on the jagged reef;
His camera gave the customary click.
Grasping a bright bough from the sacred wood,
The Lover explored her dark and tender dream.
Among the ghosts he breathed her words for breath,
And in his veins the words became his blood,
Till his heart, leaping in ecstasy from her stream,
Died on the bank, thrashing in silver death.