A pit candescent by Pele.

The morning looks forth aslant;

Heaven’s curtains roll up and roll down;

There’s a ring of o-ó ’neath the sod.

Who, asks Wakea, the god,

Who is this devil a-digging?

’Tis I, ’tis Pele, I who

Dug on Maui the pit to the fire:

Ah, the crater of Maui,

Red-glowing with Pele’s own fire!