A sea of foliage girds our garden round,
but not a sea of dull unvaried green,
Sharp contests of all colours here are seen;
The light-green graceful tamarinds abound 
Amid the mango clumps of green profound,
And palms arise, like pillars grey, between;
And o'er the quiet pools the seemuls lean,
Red-red, and startling like a trumpet's sound.
But nothing can be lovelier than the ranges 
Of bamboos to the eastward, when the moon 
Looks through their gaps, and the white lotus changes 
Into a cup of silver. One might swoon 
Drunken with beauty then, or gaze and gaze
On a primeval Eden, in amaze.