That is mottled and checkered with clouds;
The tall Man, the Lord of the Mountain;
His fellows who rest in the tree-shade—
Bent-kneed, they pray in their forest-temple.
Suffice it: here’s flowing bowl, Hoalii.
Seek the God; stay not till you find him.
If at fault, an offering this for your flesh.
The twain of us came at the call of love,
That my tears might pour with the others.
Profound the tabu; profound be the peace!