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,