Song in Exile
THE rustling palms bend readily
Between the sun and me;
The trades blow warm and steadily
Across the turquoise sea;
But I'd rather feel the March wind bite
In the country of the free.
Hibiscus and camellias
Bloom here abundantly,
And roses and gardenias
The sweetest flowers there be
But I'd rather see through the bare north woods
One bridal dogwood tree.
The tropic light is mellow
As a lamp in a lighted room;
The sun shines high and yellow
In the quivering cloudless dome;
But, oh, for the snow and the cruel cold
And the rigors of my home!
poem by Alice Duer Miller
Added by Poetry Lover
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