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!