XXIX
I think of thee!—my thoughts do twine and budAbout thee, as wild vines, about a tree,Put out broad leaves, and soon there’s nought to seeExcept the straggling green which hides the wood.Yet, O my palm-tree, be it understoodI will not have my thoughts instead of theeWho art dearer, better! Rather, instantlyRenew thy presence; as a strong tree should,Rustle thy boughs and set thy trunk all bare,And let these bands of greenery which insphere thee,Drop heavily down,—burst, shattered everywhere!Because, in this deep joy to see and hear theeAnd breathe within thy shadow a new air,I do not think of thee—I am too near thee.