That drop in the lap of his chosen palm.

The sun may flame and the sands may stir,

But the breath of his passion reaches her.

O Tree of Love, by that love of thine,

Teach me how I shall soften mine!

Give me the secret of the sun,

Whereby the wooed is ever won!

If I were a King, O stately Tree,

A likeness, glorious as might be,

In the court of my palace I’d build for thee!