It was as if those oriental dreams
In which my soul was steeped to fervidness,
Were here transmuted to their golden real
With added glories for each shape or hue.
The stately trees wore coronals of flowers
That swung their censers in the mid-day sun:
The pines and palms of my delightful east
Chaunted their wild songs nearer to the stars;
Even the roses had more exquisite hues,
And for one blossom I had left behind