Although my study windows look
On slopes which start from where I stand,
Like pictures from a different book
The views which they command.

That to the north is bleak and brown
From scanty earth and biting spray
And gales which beat stout cedars down,
Stripping the cliffs to gray.

Sear grass and prickly-pear and sage
Clutch where they can this arid shore;
The sombre sea casts up in rage
Weed from its rocky floor.

But oh, the vista to the south —
So smiling, can it paint the truth?
Sweetness to melt a bitter mouth
And flood the heart with youth:

A poinciana's fairy crown
Of ferny green bestarred with red,
And clematis in bridal gown
With roses for a bed;

Water so golden blue, so calm,
It glows a dreaming mermaid's pool,
Marged with pink sand and many a palm
With purple shadows cool.

Like pictures from a different book:
Yet how securely bound in one;
For do not both my windows look
Upon the selfsame sun?