Are not so light as his slender stem.
He lifts his leaves in the sunbeam’s glance
As the Almehs lift their arms in dance—
A slumberous motion, a passionate sign,
That works in the cells of the blood like wine.
Full of passion and sorrow is he,
Dreaming where the beloved may be.
And when the warm south-winds arise,
He breathes his longing in fervid sighs—
Quickening odors, kisses of balm,