Chapter III

Do you know the pile-built village where the sago-dealers trade--
Do you know the reek of fish and wet bamboo?
Do you know the steaming stillness of the orchid-scented glade
When the blazoned, bird-winged butterflies flap through?
It is there that I am going with my camphor, net, and boxes,
To a gentle, yellow pirate that I know--
To my little wailing lemurs, to my palms and flying-foxes,
For the Red Gods call me out and I must go!

_He must go--go_, etc.