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O'er our heads the squadron dances
Of the fire-fly wheel and poise;
And dim phantoms charm our trances,
And link'd dreams prolong our joys—
Till around us creeps the early
Sweet discordance of the dawn,
And the moonlight pales, and pearly
Haloes settle round the morn;
And from remnants of the hoary
Mists, where now the sunshine glows,
Starts at length in crimson glory
Some bright flock of flamingoes.
O that land where the suns linger
And the passion-flowers grow
Is the land for me the Singer:
There I made me, years ago,
Many a golden habitation,
Full of things most fair to see;
And the fond imagination
Of my heart dwells there with me.
