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.