Are the cliffs of Nene-le’a;
Like the lash of the bosen’s wings
Is the curl of the breaking wave
In the channel of Ië-ië.
The gray sand that borders the lava
Drinks the waves like a thirsting man;
And purple and pink and red
Are the eye-spots of the bazalt
That gleam in the sea of Ka-peku.
The sea gives a querulous tone—