And—always the same.
At dawn, when the pig broke from cover,
At noon, when the pleaders were met,
She clung to the lips of her lover
As never live maiden did yet;
At the Bund, when I waited the far light
That brought me my Mails o'er the main—
At night, when the tents, in the starlight,
Showed white on the plain.
And now, though each finely cut feature