Her bowers of fragrance, or the plain
Where thy broad leaves once joyed to lave
Their verdure in the southern wave?
Across the sunlight hours of glee
Do memories of sadness come,
That speak of groves beyond the sea,
That whisper of a glorious home?
Dost thou partake my grief, when here
I bathe thy stem with many a tear?
Ah no! thou drink’st the beams of day