Expand your snowy wings, ye swans of Helicon!

Expand your snowy wings, ye swans of Helicon!
And bear me to some paradise
On India's verdant mountains, or on Iran's plains:
Lay me beneath the spreading palm,
That heaves its polished shaft aloft, and waves
Its capital of verdure; flowers that glow
Like morning's gay effulgence, fruits that hang
Their purple clusters, in communion blent,
Mingle their beauty and their sweetness;—gales
Breathe from the lovely union, fragrance-laden,
And cheer for many a league the desert round,
As budding, blooming, ripening, and mature,
In soft accordance pensilely they droop:—
The camel scents the wind,—he knows the spring
Of living coolness bubbles where it loads
Its wings with odors, and at once he starts
And scours the dazzling plain:—O, lay me there,
And, hovering over, pour your dying notes,
The dirge of one who sang and shone, a child,
And sunk at manhood in the dust, despised.
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