I have lifted her over my threshold to-night.
Many moons have risen and set since she received my napi;
But now she is here and has entered my upper room,
Where is a shrine for the joss of happiness,
And a soft couch and delicate hanging,
And fine things for fine fingers to handle,
And shaded lanterns and a guitar and my machine-that-sings.
There are ornaments of jade and lacquer,
And the bamboo pipe and the hap-heem that I have laid aside,
And the written leaves containing my verses.
But there are no writing tables, no ink and no brushes.
For now my verses will be written upon her brow.