  As the cocoanut-palm That pines, my love, Away from the sound Of the planter's voice, Am I, for I hear No more resound Your song by the pearl-strewn sea! The sun may come And the moon wax round, And in its beam My mates may rejoice, But I feast not And my heart is dumb, As I long, O long, for thee! In the jungle-deeps, Where the cobra creeps, The leopard lies In wait for me. But O, my love, When the daylight dies There is more to my dread than he! Harsh lonely tears That assail my eyes Are worse to bear, For the misery That makes them well Is the long, long years That I moan away from thee! O again, again, In my katamaran A-keel would I push To your palmy door! Again would I hear The heave and hush Of your song by the plantain-tree. But far away Do I toil and crush The hopes that arise At my sick heart's core. For never near Does it come, the day That draws me again to thee! |
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