Up from the Caribbean

The wind conies like a paean, As on my fragant orange-bough 1 swing,

Dreaming and wondering, And piping Sapphic fragments o'er and o'er.

Along the shore The surf foams madly and the breakers roar.

Strange odors from afar, Spice, amber, nard and tar. And Lesbian roses blown in Mitylene, And violet-breath, and waft of myrtle green, Steep me in visions passionate and wild,

Of love, all undefiled, Whereby was Sappho's bright

Rose-garden of delight, Flooded with starry splendors of old night!

O ! Bower of June, With morning freshness lingering alter noon ! All round through apple boughs the cool air blows, Shaking soft slumber down the dusky leaves, Where still the subtle violet-weaver weaves !

- From a song of the Mocking Bird, by Maurice Thompson in Independent.