Still pluck you a wreath by the way
To crown your fondest ambition;
A wreath not marred by the salt wind
That plays with the skirts of Puna.
I long to look eye into eye.
Friendless the house, you away;
Pray who will receive, who welcome,
This guest uninvited from far?
I long for one (soul-deep) gaze,
One night of precious communion;