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!