THE rustling palms bend readily <br />Between the sun and me; <br />The trades blow warm and steadily <br />Across the turquoise sea; <br />But I'd rather feel the March wind bite <br />In the country of the free. <br /> <br />Hibiscus and camellias <br />Bloom here abundantly, <br />And roses and gardenias <br />The sweetest flowers there be <br />But I'd rather see through the bare north woods <br />One bridal dogwood tree. <br /> <br />The tropic light is mellow <br />As a lamp in a lighted room; <br />The sun shines high and yellow <br />In the quivering cloudless dome; <br />But, oh, for the snow and the cruel cold <br />And the rigors of my home!<br /><br />Alice Duer Miller<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/song-in-exile/
