From India's burning clime I'm brought,
With cooling gales like zephyrs fraught.
Not Iris, when she paints the sky,
Can show more different hues than I:
Nor can she change her form so fast,
I'm now a sail, and now a mast.
I here am red, and there am green,
A beggar there, and here a queen.
I sometimes live in a house of hair,
And oft in hand of lady fair.
I please the young, I grace the old,
And am at once both hot and cold
Say what I am then, if you can,
And find the rhyme, and you're the man.
This work published before January 1, 1923 is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.