Palm! The insignia of triumph. Aerial in the light, consummate bloom of the crest, it soars, expands, rejoices,--and sinks beneath the weight of its freedom. Through the warm day and the long noon the cocoa palm expands. In an ecstasy it spreads its happy leaves. Like infant heads the cocoanuts appear, the great green fruit of the tree. Thus does the cocoa palm gesture, revealing its heart; for the lower leaves, unfolding from out their depth, reach pendulent to the earth; and the leaves in the midst spread far on every side; and the leaves above, uplifted like the hands of an awkward man or like one who signals his complete submission, slowly wave and sign. The trunk is nowhere rigid, but ringed; and like to the blades of the grass, it is supple and long. It is swayed by the moods of the earth, whether it strains toward the sun or bends its spreading plumes over swift and turbid rivers, or between the sea and the sky. One night, returning along the shore of the sea assaulted with turbulent foam by the whole deep-thundering weight of the leonine Indian Ocean beneath the south-western monsoon,--as I followed the shore far-strewn with palms like the skeleton wrecks of boats and of lesser and living things, I saw them upon my left! As I walked by that forest empty beneath its dense-woven ceiling, the palms seemed enormous spiders crawling obliquely across the peaceful twilight heaven! Venus, like a moon drowned in divinest light, flickered a wide reflection in the waters. And a palm-tree bent over the sea and the mirrored planet, and its gesture offered its heart to the heavenly fire. I shall often remember that night when, afar, I yearn to return! I saw the leafage hanging in heavy tresses, and across the high fane of the forest, that sky where the storm, setting its feet on the sea, loomed up like a mountain; and how low on the dark horizon the pale pearl of the ocean gleamed! Oh Ceylon, shall I ever forget thee,--thy fruits and thy flowers, and thy people with melting eyes, naked beside those highways that are hued like the mango’s flesh; and my rickshaw-man’s gift of nodding rosy flowers which he placed on my knees when, with tears in my eyes, crushed down by sorrow--but nibbling a leaf of cinnamon--I left thee at last beneath thy rainy skies. THE PAGODA I descend from my carriage, and the sight of a hideous beggar marks the beginning of my journey. With one bloodshot eye he leers at me, and with a leprous lip reveals to their roots teeth bone-yellow and as long as those of a rabbit. The rest of his face is eaten away.