Where the Tradewind Blows

I

I’ve wandered quite a bit
  Far lands and countries o’er:
In gentle climes I’ve picked rare fruits;
  And dallied pleasing hours
By murm’ring brooks, I’ve dreamed far thought:
  And picked the fairest flowers:
Yet—
  There’s a land that always calls me
  —And that draws me more and more
Where the Oleander grows:
  —And the bright Poinsettia glows:—
And the trade-wind blows—
  On the coral-jewelled margin
    Of the biscayne Shore.

 
II

Far North where I was born
  Great mountains sun-ward soar.
And rushing rivers ceaseless roll
  Where leagues of fir-trees stand.
The snows of old upon those peaks
  Forever chill the land.
But—
  There’s a Shore I know—that draws me
  And that warms me all the more!—
Where the gumbo-limbo grows:—
  And the little lizards doze—
Where the trade-wind blows
  Through the palm-tufted curvings
    Of the Biscayne shore.

[Extract]