The Tropics

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LOVE we the warmth and light of tropic lands,  
The strange bright fruit, the feathery fanspread leaves,  
The glowing mornings and the mellow eves,  
The strange shells scattered on the golden sands,  
The curious handiwork of Eastern hands,
The little carts ambled by humpbacked beeves,  
The narrow outrigged native boat which cleaves,  
Unscathed, the surf outside the coral strands.  
Love we the blaze of color, the rich red  
Of broad tiled-roof and turban, the bright green
Of plantain-frond and paddy-field, nor dread  
The fierceness of the noon. The sky serene,  
The chill-less air, quaint sights, and tropic trees,  
Seem like a dream fulfilled of lotus-ease.

© Douglas Brooke Wheelton Sladen