By John Rozel Cuthbert
Oft have I lain in those dear days of old
And watched the sunlight play with wanton glee
Among the palm fronds, and, with beams of gold,
Make a myriad twinkles on a dimpling sea.
The waving music of the palms aloft,
The long blue rollers breaking on the reef,
Like distant thunder, muffled, deep and soft,
Soothed me to slumber, sent my soul relief.