1. Alas for the tribe whose tattered shawl has passed,
And the dark shadows that bar my path.

2. With trailing hems I filled their drinking bowls,
Yet still on me they falsely blame.

3. Dawn broke, smiling, rose-lipped,
And still the star's eye blinked and closed.

4. My body ached from their diseased glances
Since in their eyes first gleamed disease's glow.

5. Their arrows at me all came winged with skill;
My heart their butt, though blameless of their woes.