But the old skulls grin in the silent waste,
Gazelle, gazelle, make haste, make haste!
I travel fast, and I fear no ill,
There is something blue in the distance still.
III
The old skulls grinned in the silent sand,
They beckoned her like a bony hand:
Gazelle, gazelle, hast drunk thy fill?
Is there something blue in the distance, still?
Kurangí.