"How do you do," I said; the yellow coat

She wore was like a golden serpent's skin.

I took her white gloved hand, my voice grew thin

As tho' her hand were tight about my throat.

The air was green with heat, a flaccid note

I did not fail to see, for heat might win

My cause; her weary soul looked from within

And saw the white sails flapping on my boat.

" Coolness and rest" my eyes were whispering,

In Isles where morn grows never afternoon,

Where Passion buds forever with the Spring,

Nor wanes with shifting tides of sea and moon,

But- " How are you ?" she said, and that was all,

And tho' she smiled, she passed beyond recall.