More entrancing than aroma From the Hindu sacred soma, Comes a fragrant Essence vagrant Floating up From my quaint Zumpango cup, Incense rare, Evanescent steam ascending, Curling, wavering, fading, blending, Vanishing in viewless air. Let me sip and dream and sing Musing many an idle thing, Let me sing and dream and sip Making many an fancied trip Far away and far away Over ocean, gulf and bay To islands whence the spicy wind Breathes languor on the tropic sea, To sultry strands of teeming Ind, To coasts of torrid Araby, To realms no Boreal breath may chill, Like rich Brazil, Or Jabal’s clouded hill on hill, Or warm Bulgosa’s valley low, To zones where Summer splendors glow, Where seasons never come or go, Where coffee trees perpetual blow. While I drowse and dream and sip, Sailing, sailing slides a ship Over the glittering sea, Measuring leagues of night and day, Bearing and bringing to me, Bringing from far away, away, The pale green magical berry, The seed of the virtuous cherry, The bean of the blossom divine! Bringing from over the brine, Bringing from Demarara, From balsamy San Pará, Bringing from Trans-Sahara, From hoard of the Grand Bashaw, Or redolent chests of Menelek, An Abyssinian cargo Richer than freight of Argo, Treasured in garners under the deck, Bringing and bearing for me The gift of the coffee tree! Better than blood of the Spanish vine, Or ruddy or amber wine of the Rhine; Bearing the bean of the blessed tree! Better than bousa or sake fine, Or sampan loads of oolong tea, Souchong, twankay, or bohea,-- Bringing the virtuous bean divine, The coffee-tree cherry, The magical berry, More entrancing than aroma From the Hindu sacred soma. AN INDIA SHAWL. This dainty shawl an Eastern shuttle wove, Where Ravee stream winds sunward from Cashmere; By nimble gold ’twas borne around the sphere For one who gave it me in friendly love. To rival nature’s hues the weaver strove, For beauty’s sake and not barbaric show; Behold, commingled here, elusive glow The brilliant, innocent dyes of field and grove. This silk soft web was never merchandise; A charm of peerless art proclaims it rare,-- A sumptuous robe that Majesty would prize, And India’s British Empress well might wear; ’Tis mine for thee within whose beaming eyes I see love’s India, O my queenly Fair! APOLOGY. Full well my loyal heart remembers The vow of rapture’s lavish tongue, For thee to smother grief’s Decembers In joy’s June roses and make over The world;--how easily, fond lover, Could I when life and hope were young.