Upon a night I sat behind my shop,
In happy talk with casual company:
The upright Ho Ling, the grave Cheng Huan,
And the round-bodied and amiable Sway Too, of my own country;
Together with the maid of the golden curls,
A sad-eyed seaman from Malay,
And two pale Englishmen, Bill Hawkins and Jack Brown.
We sat beneath the lantern, and drank our tchah in fellowship,
And spoke of this and of that.
And the moon rose and mated with the soft smells of my store,
And brought forth a spirit that spoke to us
Of things forgotten or lost, or long despaired of.
Friendship bound us together, and we sat late,
Glad of the night, and each glad of his companions;
While men in another land
Wrought horrors upon their fellows beneath this moon,
Drunk with the wicked words of the wicked lords of men.