Sonnet—Baugmaree

A sea of foliage girds our garden round,
        But not a sea of dull unvaried green,
        Sharp contrasts of all colours here are seen;
The light-green graceful tamarinds abound
Amid the mangoe clumps of green profound,
        And palms arise, like pillars gray, between;
        And o'er the quiet pools the seemuls lean,
Red,—red, and startling like a trumpet's sound.
But nothing can be lovelier than the ranges
        Of bamboos to the eastward, when the moon
Looks through their gaps, and the white lotus changes
        Into a cup of silver. One might swoon
               Drunken with beauty then, or gaze and gaze
               On a primeval Eden, in amaze.