Strangers drawn¹ from the ends of the earth, jewelled and plumed² were we;
I was the Lord of the Inca Race, and she was the Queen of the Sea.
Under the stars beyond our stars where the reinless meteors glow,
Hotly we stormed Valhalla, a million years ago.

Dust of the stars was under our feet, glitter of stars above —
Wrecks³ of our wrath⁴ dropped reeling down as we fought and we spurned⁵ and we strove;
Worlds upon worlds we tossed aside, and scattered⁶ them to and fro,
The night that we stormed Valhalla, a million years ago.

She with the star I had marked for my own — I with my set desire —
Lost in the loom⁷ of the Night of Nights, ‘wildered by worlds afire —
Met in a war ‘twixt love and hate where the reinless meteors glow,
Hewing⁸ our way to Valhalla, a million years ago.

— The Sack of the Gods.

In summer the nights of the desert are hotter than the days, for when the sun goes down, earth, masonry⁹, and marble give forth¹⁰ their stored heat, and the low clouds, promising¹¹ rain and never bringing it, allow nothing to escape.

Tarvin was lying at rest in the verandah of the rest-house, smoking a cheroot and wondering how far he had bettered the case of the Maharaj Kunwar by appealing to the Maharajah. His reflections were not disturbed; the last of the commercial travellers had gone back to Calcutta and Bombay,

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