Over the mountain's shadowed snow,
A rosy flake, the moon
Drifts in the beryl glow
Of early night;
And over the still sea
Of malachite
Sings from the marble quay,
Where blue-black Nubians crouch in shivering cold,
A shrill and reedy tune
My heart first heard
In Uganda forests piped by some dead bird
In unremembered days of old.