i think of thee!—my thoughts do twine and bud

about thee, as wild vines, about a tree,

put out broad leaves, and soon there’s nought to see

except the straggling green which hides the wood.

yet, o my palm-tree, be it understood

i will not have my thoughts instead of thee

who art dearer, better! rather, instantly

renew thy presence; as a strong tree should,

rustle thy boughs and set thy trunk all bare,

and let these bands of greenery which insphere thee,

drop heavily down,—burst, shattered everywhere!

because, in this deep joy to see and hear thee

and breathe within thy shadow a new air,

i do not think of thee—i am too near thee.