145 
 
 
 
 
 
AD FIDELEM INFIDELEM 
 
AH, sweet my sister !  Was it idle toil, 
 When in the flowerless Eden of Shanghai 
 We made immortal mischief, you and I 
“ Casting our flame-flowers on the dull brown soil ? ” 
Did we not light a lamp withouten oil 
 Nursed by unfruitful kisses, stealthily 
 Strewn in the caldron where our Destiny 
Bides brooding—Mother, bid its brew to boil !   
 
Ah, Sweetheart, we were barren as Sahara, 
 But on Sahara burns our subtle star. 
 Soon an oasis, now too lone and far, 
Shall bloom with all the blossoms of Bokhara :   
 See !  o’er the brim the mystic fountain flows !   
 Cull from the caldron the ensanguine Rose !