I know not how her trees compare With palm and northward pine, But for each I could say a prayer, The trees I name as mine. I know not how her waters touch The blue of other streams, But if they hold a shade too much They tell to me my dreams! I know not if their plunderings race With Scylla's pools afar; But there are keepsakes I can trace, Beyond what wrecks can bar. I know not if her roses dare The weight of Cashmere scent, But every bud will burn to share Her beggars' banishment. I know not if her mountains reach The Pyrenean peaks, But all are learned enough to teach What every alien seeks! I know not if her land rates high, As ducats count this thing; But close, it ever will deny Me, resurrection's spring! |