The South

AH! where the hot wind, with sweet odors laden, Against the roses faintly beats his wings, Uttering mild melodious murmurings To the faint flowers and the fluttering gladen, Whispering of some far, sunset-bowered Aidenn, And in an orange tree an oriole sings, Whereunder lies, dreaming of unknown things, With orange blossoms wreathed, a radiant maiden-- There is the poet's land; there would I lie Beneath the shadows of magnolia trees And let my eyes grow languid and my mouth Glow with the kisses of the amorous breeze And breathe with every breath the luxury Of the hot-cheeked, sweet, heavy-lidded South.