Palma

What tellest thou to heaven,Thou royal tropic tree?At morn or noon or even,Proud dweller by the sea,What is thy song to heaven?

The homesick heart that faintedIn torrid sun and air,With peace becomes acquaintedBeholding thee so fair—With joy becomes acquainted:

And charms itself with fanciesAbout thy kingly race,With gay and wild romancesThat mimic thee in graceOf supple, glorious fancies.

I feel thou art not tender,Scion of sun and sea—The wild-bird does not renderTo thee its minstrelsy—Fearing thou art not tender:

But calm, serene and saintly,As highborn things should be,Who, if they love us faintly,Make us love reverently,Because they are so saintly.

To be loved without loving,O proud and princely palm,Is to fancy our ship movingWith the ocean at dead calm—The joy of love is loving.

Because the sun did sire thee,The ocean nurse thy youth,Because the stars desire thee,The warm winds whisper truth,Shall nothing ever fire thee?

What is thy tale to heavenIn the sultry tropic noon?What whisperest thou at evenTo the dusky Indian moon—Has she sins to be forgiven?

Keep all her secrets, loyalAs only great souls are—As only souls most royal,To the flower or to the starAlike are purely loyal.

O Palma, if thou hearest,Thou proud and princely tree,Thou knowest that my DearestIs emblemed forth in thee—My kingly Palm, my Dearest.

I am his Moon admiring,His wooing Wind, his Star;And I glory in desiringMy Palm-tree from afar—Glad as happier lovers are,Am happy in desiring.

Acapulco, Mexico, 1863.