Ten Years on the Islands
Ten years on the Islands,
And you’re mad;
Not a spark of decency—
Oh! it’s sad;
Can’t recall one sober day,
That you’ve had;
You’ve let the tropics get you,
And you’re bad.
Ten years on the Islands,
And you fell,
Hardly conscious of surrender,
To the spell;
You’re eaten up with leprosy,
Traders tell,
You’re a comber of the beaches—
Gone to hell.
Ten years on the Islands,
It’s too long,
To preserve one’s sense of right,
And of wrong,
The tropic’s spell is gentle,
But it’s strong,
It feeds the soul on lotus,
Till it’s gone.
* * *