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A sea of foliage girds our garden round,
  But not a sea of dull unvaried green,
  Sharp contrasts of all colours here are seen;
The light-green graceful tamarinds abound
Amid the mangoe clumps of green profound,
  And palms arise, like pillars gray, between;
  And o'er the quiet pools the seemuls lean,
Red,--red, and startling like a trumpet's sound.
But nothing can be lovelier than the ranges
  Of bamboos to the eastward, when the moon
Looks through their gaps, and the white lotus changes
  Into a cup of silver. One might swoon
    Drunken with beauty then, or gaze and gaze
    On a primeval Eden, in amaze.