See where the low spit cuts the water,
What is that misty wavering light?
Only the pale datura flowers
Blossoming through the silent night.
What is the fragrance in thy tresses?
’T is the scent of the champa’s breath;
The meaning of champa bloom is passion—
And of datura—death!
Sweet are thy ways and thy strange caresses,
That sear as flame, and exult as wine.