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Yon targe of fronds, whose drooping tips around it,
Like ornamental lace their fringes roll
Flames lonely through the leafy shades that bound it,
Some great Mogul’s emblazoned parasol.
Here the liana garland-wise festooning
Platane and mango in its plaited maze,
Swings the light blooms, their spotted bells attuning
Into an arabesque of colour; blaze
Ruby with sapphire, topaz, agate, banded:
Here in full pomp the spacious dawn expanded.
Now freshly through the woods a spirit heaves
As from dawn’s bosom, bearing, pleasure-laden,
A hundred odours, murmurs in all leaves,
And wakes to myriad life the forest Aden.
Here hails the sun the parrot’s shrill acclaiming,
As o’er his fluttering wing, with purple flaming,
Light’s tracery glints, he preens his emerald side,
The woodland peacock flashing through the gloom,
A glowing meteor, irridescent-eyed:
The butterfly there poises on the bloom,
A winged fire aloft the apes in guise
Of demons scare repose, in bough and trailer
Entanglement ensconced, with dismal cries:
Lower head-downward fly, hang by the tail or
Swarm, lightning-like, o’er tree trunks, swarm or scatter:
Daring upon festooned lianas swing
In attitudes grotesque: while all sides ring,
Above, below, with endless buzz and chatter.
To-day, a strange report in fits has flung ’em,
Their Hanuman’s alive, nay, he’s among ’em,
Sudden returned from distant lands in might
And such a strange costume—their god of light,—
