Part 2 (1/2)
”Chrysis . . .”
She sang in a monotonous chant.
”Chrysis, thy hair is like a swarm of bees hanging on a tree.
The hot wind of the south penetrates it with the dew of love-battles and the wet perfume of night-flowers.”
The young woman alternated, in a softer, lower voice:
”My hair is like an endless river in the plain when the flame-lit evening fades.”
And they sang, one after the other:
”Thine eyes are like blue water-lilies without stalks, motionless upon the pools.”
”Mine eyes rest in the shadow of my lashes like deep lakes under dark branches.”
”Thy lips are two delicate flowers stained with the blood of a roe.”
”My lips are the edges of a burning wound.”
”Thy tongue is the b.l.o.o.d.y dagger that has made the wound of thy mouth.”
”My tongue is inlaid with precious stones. It is red with the sheen of my lips.”
”Thine arms are tapering as two ivory tusks, and thy armpits are two mouths.”
”Mine arms are tapering as two lily-stalks and my fingers hang therefrom like five petals.”
”Thy thighs are two white elephants' trunks. They bear thy feet like two red flowers.”
”My feet are two nenuphar-leaves upon the water: My thighs are two bursting nenuphar buds.”
”Thy b.r.e.a.s.t.s are two silver bucklers with cusps steeped in blood.”
”My b.r.e.a.s.t.s are the moon and the reflection of the moon and the water.”
[Ill.u.s.tration: Huddled against the wall, Djala bethought herself of the love-songs of India.]
”Thy navel is a deep pit in a desert of red sand, and thy belly a young kid lying on its mother's breast.”