To whisper as they meet in deep, still lagoons,
The deep caves by Savaii, and Momo,
The eyes of children romping by the red seashore
When even falls—I say, O white mans,
All these things shall be my dead-heart dreaming!
I great chief of gods, so never die dead.
“And will you see your loved ones again when you die, O Le Langi?”
My love ones live, they are not dead.
They shine, their eyes in sky of darkness—
When sings the maona my dead love makes stars four!