Classic Poem

Far in the Southland warm and blest
Dwells the Queen whom we love the best.
There, by a wealth of luxurious gold
Swathed and sheltered from harm and cold,
In a budding beauty that never dies,
Slumber a thousand blooms divine;
And some are ruddy as evening skies,
And some in a flaming crimson shine.
Through the gladsome round of the circling hours
The goddess walks in her gay parterre,
And they grow more lovely, the lovely flowers,
At the very thought of her presence there.
Crocus and hyacinth, lily and rose,
Snowdrop, anemone, columbine,
With every zephyr that softly flows,
Sway like censers before a shrine.
Many a bowerie's velvet screen
Opens to give her room to pass;
And rippling waves of shadowy green
Frolic over the bladed grass.