Underthe palm-trees on India's shoreNe'er shall I wander at morning or eve;Hearts there have withered, but still in the coreOf mine springs the memory of feelings that giveGreen thoughts in sunshine and bright hopes in gloom;Friendship, which love's loud emotions becalms:Oh, happy was I, in those bowers of perfume,Under the palms!Go forth, little children; the wood's insect-humInvites ye; expand there, like buds in the sun;Leave schools and their studies for days thatwillcome,And let thy first lessons from nature be won!Teachings hath nature most sage and most sweet—The music that swells in the tree-linnet's psalms;So taught, my young heart learned to prize that retreatUnder the palms!The odour of jasmines afloat on the breeze,That woke in the dawning the birds on each bough;The frolicsome squirrels, that scampered at case'Mid lithe leaves and soft moss that smiled down below:Heaps piled up of mangoes, all fragrant and rich;Guavas pink-cored, such a wealth of sweet almsPresented by bright maids, whose sweet songs bewitchUnder the palms!Pale, yellow bananas, with satiny pulpThat tastes like some dainty of sugar and cream;Blithe-kernelled pomegranates, just gathered to helpA feast fit to serve in the bowers of a dream!Milk, foaming and snowy; rice, swelling and sweet;Iced sherbet that cools, and spiced ginger that warms:Oh, simple our banquet in that dear retreatUnder the palms!A tinkling of lutes and a toning of voices—Of young maiden voices just fresh from the bath;A sprinkling of rosewater cool, that rejoicesThe scented grass screening our bower from the path;Trim baskets of melons, new gathered, besideFair bunches of blossoms that heal all sick qualms;And books, when to reading our fancies subside,Under the palms!Or silence at eve when the sun hath gone down,Or the sound ofonecithern makes melody near;While a beautiful boy, that hath ne'er known a frown,Softly murmurs a tale of the East in the ear;Of peris, that cluster round flower-stalks like fruit—Of genii, that breathe amid blossoms and balms—Of gazelle-eyed houris, that play on sweet lutesUnder the palms!Of roses, that nightly unfold their flower-leavesTo welcome the lays of the loved nightingale—Of spirits, that home in an Eden of EvesWhere the sun never scorches, the strength never fails!So singing, so playing, Sleep steals on us all,Enclasping us gently within her soft arms;—Let me dream that the moonbeams still over me fallUnder the palms!
Underthe palm-trees on India's shoreNe'er shall I wander at morning or eve;Hearts there have withered, but still in the coreOf mine springs the memory of feelings that giveGreen thoughts in sunshine and bright hopes in gloom;Friendship, which love's loud emotions becalms:Oh, happy was I, in those bowers of perfume,Under the palms!
Go forth, little children; the wood's insect-humInvites ye; expand there, like buds in the sun;Leave schools and their studies for days thatwillcome,And let thy first lessons from nature be won!Teachings hath nature most sage and most sweet—The music that swells in the tree-linnet's psalms;So taught, my young heart learned to prize that retreatUnder the palms!
The odour of jasmines afloat on the breeze,That woke in the dawning the birds on each bough;The frolicsome squirrels, that scampered at case'Mid lithe leaves and soft moss that smiled down below:Heaps piled up of mangoes, all fragrant and rich;Guavas pink-cored, such a wealth of sweet almsPresented by bright maids, whose sweet songs bewitchUnder the palms!
Pale, yellow bananas, with satiny pulpThat tastes like some dainty of sugar and cream;Blithe-kernelled pomegranates, just gathered to helpA feast fit to serve in the bowers of a dream!Milk, foaming and snowy; rice, swelling and sweet;Iced sherbet that cools, and spiced ginger that warms:Oh, simple our banquet in that dear retreatUnder the palms!
A tinkling of lutes and a toning of voices—Of young maiden voices just fresh from the bath;A sprinkling of rosewater cool, that rejoicesThe scented grass screening our bower from the path;Trim baskets of melons, new gathered, besideFair bunches of blossoms that heal all sick qualms;And books, when to reading our fancies subside,Under the palms!
Or silence at eve when the sun hath gone down,Or the sound ofonecithern makes melody near;While a beautiful boy, that hath ne'er known a frown,Softly murmurs a tale of the East in the ear;Of peris, that cluster round flower-stalks like fruit—Of genii, that breathe amid blossoms and balms—Of gazelle-eyed houris, that play on sweet lutesUnder the palms!
Of roses, that nightly unfold their flower-leavesTo welcome the lays of the loved nightingale—Of spirits, that home in an Eden of EvesWhere the sun never scorches, the strength never fails!So singing, so playing, Sleep steals on us all,Enclasping us gently within her soft arms;—Let me dream that the moonbeams still over me fallUnder the palms!
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