Part Iv

Love tousled Waimea with shafts of the wind, While Kipuupuu puffed jealous gusts. Love is a tree that blights in the cold, But thrives in the woods of Mahiki. Smitten art thou with the blows of love; Luscious the water-drip in the wilds; Wearied and bruised is the flower of Koaie; Stung by the frost the herbage of Wai-ka-é: And this—it is love. Wai-ká loves me like a sweetheart. Dear as my heart Koolau’s yellow eye, My flower in the tangled wood, Hule-í-a, A travel-wreath to lay on love’s breast, A shade to cover my journey’s long climb. Love-touched, distraught, mine a wilderness-home; But still do I cherish the old spot, For love—it is love. Your love visits me even here: Where has it been hiding till now?