A Shaded Spot

                The sunlight fiercely burns
From ‘mid the vivid whiteness of our tropic day;
And every flower and leaf its parched bosom turns,
                In languid mood away.
                The palm-frond’s graceful spray
Droops moveless, ruffled by no breath of air,
There is a sense of rest, but such as flare
In flames that dazzle with a steady glare.

                The heavy plantain-leaves,
Broad-fashioned, throw their shadows on the dusty ground,
And from each hanging ridge the rustic cottage eaves
                Also in shade are bound.
                No bird voice trills a sound.
Heat; clear white heat, that seems to rest with weight,
Falls on the window panes, upon the roofs of slate,
And sparkles on the low, white palings of each gate.

                Here is a shaded spot;
A little calm, cool island in a world of light.
Now may the weary “eyelids close in rest”, and blot
                The silent swirl from sight;
                While half a-doze, sweet thoughts in flight
Pass and repass, like mental music flowing,
Or echoes that rise and fall, now coming and now going
Over the border-land, between knowing and unknowing.