| |
| IN tangled wreaths, in clustered gleaming stars, | |
| In floating, curling sprays, | |
| The golden flower comes shining through the woods | |
| These February days; | |
| Forth go all hearts, all hands, from out the town, | 5 |
| To bring her gayly in, | |
| This wild, sweet Princess of far Florida— | |
| The yellow jessamine. | |
| |
| The live-oaks smile to see her lovely face | |
| Peep from the thickets; shy, | 10 |
| She hides behind the leaves her golden buds | |
| Till, bolder grown, on high | |
| She curls a tendril, throws a spray, then flings | |
| Herself aloft in glee, | |
| And, bursting into thousand blossoms swings | 15 |
| In wreaths from tree to tree. | |
| |
| The dwarf-palmetto on his knees adores | |
| This Princess of the air; | |
| The lone pine-barren broods afar and sighs, | |
| “Ah! come, lest I despair;” | 20 |
| The myrtle-thickets and ill-tempered thorns | |
| Quiver and thrill within, | |
| As through their leaves they feel the dainty touch | |
| Of yellow jessamine. | |
| |
| The garden-roses wonder as they see | 25 |
| The wreaths of golden bloom, | |
| Brought in from the far woods with eager haste | |
| To deck the poorest room, | |
| The rich man’s house, alike; the loaded hands | |
| Give sprays to all they meet, | 30 |
| Till, gay with flowers, the people come and go, | |
| And all the air is sweet. | |
| |
| The Southern land, well weary of its green | |
| Which may not fall nor fade, | |
| Bestirs itself to greet the lovely flower | 35 |
| With leaves of fresher shade; | |
| The pine has tassels, and the orange-trees | |
| Their fragrant work begin: | |
| The spring has come—has come to Florida, | |
| With yellow jessamine. | 40 |
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