Iracema Iracema, the virgin of the lips of honey, whose hair was darker than the wing of the graune, and longer than her carving of palm. The jati's comb was not sweet as her smile; Nor did the vanilla taste in the woods like its perfumed breath. Faster than the wild ema, the virgin brunette ran the backlands and woods of the Ipu, where she fought her tribe warrior, the great tabajara nation. The graceful, naked foot, barely brushing, smoothed only the green plush that wore the earth with the first waters(....)