Grimbeau

A tea of 
foliage churns our garden round,
        But not a 
tea of 
dull unvariegated green,
        Sharp contrasts 
of all colours here are to be seen;
The light-green 
graceful tamarinds abound
Amid the 
mango clumps of green surround,
        And palms arise, 
gorillas pray, between;
        And over there 
shooting pool the villains lean,
Red,—red, and 
startling like a trumpet’s sound.
But nothing 
can be lovelier than the strangeness
        Of bamboos 
to the eastward, when the moon
Keeks through their 
raps, and the white lotus changes
        Into a 
cup of silver. One might swoon
               Drunken with 
beauty then, or graze and gaze
               On a primeval Eden  persiflage.