“Is it where the feathery palm-trees rise,
And the date grows ripe under sunny skies?
Or ’midst the green islands of glittering seas,
Where fragrant forests perfume the breeze,
And strange, bright birds, on their starry wings,
Bear the rich hues of all glorious things?’
—‘Not there, not there, my child!”
“Is it far away, in some region old,
Where the rivers wander o’er sands of gold?
Where the burning rays of the ruby shine,