Far East
Old hamlets with your fragrant flowers And honey for the bee,Your curtained taverns, chiming towers,Droning songs and twilight hours And nodding industry—
Fine fields, wide-lapped, whose loveliest-born Day's first bright cohort finds,And steals away; whose lustier cornThe red-faced churl invades at morn And proud as Cesar binds—
Uplands and groves that from the West Have the last word for me,Think not your image in my breastWas darkened when I sang my best Beside an Eastern sea.
Beside an Eastern sea the pines In tufty spinneys drowse,The firefly-grass beneath them shinesBlue-lanterned, and the chaliced vines Climb witch-like to the boughs;
And girdled green there bask the plains Where, with his timeless smiles,
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