Across the mirror of silver sheen,
On a strip of upland ground, The towering toddy-palms are seen
With the rice-fields spread around. No shelter here from the pouring rain,
No screen from the blazing sun ; Their fretted crowns in the glare and heat, And the purple shadows about their feet, Where the little grey squirrels run.
The sun has slipped from the Western sky,
And the evening breezes blow ; The silent white-winged birds come by
In the golden afterglow ; And the tall stems rise like organ pipes
Of a vast cathedral choir, While under the trees a silence floats Like an anthem graven in purple notes On a page of liquid fire.
But best of all is the soft moonlight,
When the violet shadows fall, And the mystic charm of an Eastern night
Is around and over all ; When the sound of the night beasts, prowling low,
Comes out of the jungle deep. And the ripples of wind go waving by, While the palm trees stir with a restless sigh Like a child that turns in its sleep.
But whether the dawn, in robes of red,
Shall paint them with colours rare ; Or the fierce sun wither each drooping head
In the throbbing noon-day glare ; Or the kind night soothe them with cooling breath-
Those glorious palm trees stand For ever and ever the sign and seal Of all that a human heart can feel In a calm and beautiful land.Those glorious palm trees stand For ever and ever the sign and seal Of all that a human heart can feel In a calm and beautiful land.