I have forgotten much, but still remember The poinsiana's red, blood-red in warm December.

Deep in the secret chambers of my heart I muse my life-long hate, and without flinch I bear it nobly as I live my part.

Oh some I know! I have embalmed the days, Even the sacred moments when we played, All innocent of passion, uncorrupt, At noon and evening in the flame-heart's …

The wine-flushed, bold-eyed boys, and even the girls, Devoured her with their eager, passionate gaze; But looking at her falsely-smiling face, I knew her self …