Where palms were swaying proud and fair,
A garland round the ocean-bight,
I set my ship afire.
I climbed aboard the desert ship,
A ship on four stout legs.
It foamed beneath the lashing whip;——
Oh, catch me; I’m a flitting bird;—
I’m twittering on a bough!
Anitra, thou’rt the palm-tree’s must;
That know I now full well!