Scorched him with tongues of flame.
Puna, the place of thy landing,
First impact of winter rain—
Sweet rain, feeding the perfume,
Drunk by vine and firm-rooted tree—
The wilderness-robe of the gods.
Here am I, too, eye-flash of flame;
As for them, no friends they of mine:
Companions mine of the stormy coast,
My love goes forth to my toil-mate