To be loved without loving,
O proud and princely palm!
Is to fancy our ship moving
With 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 heaven
In the sultry tropic noon?
What whisperest thou at even
To the dusky Indian Moon—
Has she sins to be forgiven?
Keep all her secrets; loyal
As only great souls are—
As only souls most royal,
To the flower or to the star
Alike are purely loyal.
O Palma, if thou hearest,
Thou proud and princely tree!
Thou knowest that my Dearest
Is emblemed forth in thee—
My kingly Palm, my Dearest.
I am his Moon admiring,
His wooing Wind, his Star;
And I glory in desiring
My Palm-tree from afar—
Glad as happier lovers are,
Am happy in desiring!
