But every flower stood in the sunshine dreaming its own little tale; they related their stories to Gerda, but none of them knew anything of Kay. And what think you? said the Tiger Lily. Listen to the drums beating, boom! boom!—they have but two notes, always boom! boom! Listen to the dirge the women are singing! Listen to the chorus of priests! Enveloped in her long red robes stands the Hinloo wife on the funeral pile, the flames blaze around her and her dead husband, but the Hindoo wife thinks not of the dead. She thinks only of the living, and the anguish which consumes her spirit is keener than the fire which will soon reduce her body to ashes. Gan the flame of the heart expire amid the flames of the funeral pile? I do not understand that at all! said little Gerda. That is my tale! said the Tiger Lily.

Waikato Times, Volume 125, Issue 20911, 16 September 1939, Page 19 (Supplement)

But every flower stood in the sunshine dreaming its own little tale; they related their stories to Gerda, but none of them knew anything of Kay. And what think you? said the Tiger Lily. Listen to the drums beating, boom! boom!—they have but two notes, always boom! boom! Listen to the dirge the women are singing! Listen to the chorus of priests!

Enveloped in her long red robes stands the Hinloo wife on the funeral pile, the flames blaze around her and her dead husband, but the Hindoo wife thinks not of the dead. She thinks only of the living, and the anguish which consumes her spirit is keener than the fire which will soon reduce her body to ashes. Gan the flame of the heart expire amid the flames of the funeral pile? I do not understand that at all! said little Gerda. That is my tale! said the Tiger Lily.