Far to southward lie the regions Where my loyal flower-legions Hold possession of the year, Filling every month with cheer. Christmas wakes the winter rose; New Year daffodils unclose; Yellow jasmine through the wood Flows in February flood, Dropping from the tallest trees Golden streams that never freeze. Thither now I take my flight Down the pathway of the night, Till I see the southern moon Glisten on the broad lagoon, Where the cypress' dusky green, And the dark magnolia's sheen, Weave a shelter round my home. There the snow-storms never come; There the bannered mosses gray Like a curtain gently sway, Hanging low on every side Round the covert where I bide, Till the March azalea glows, Royal red and heavenly rose, Through the Carolina glade Where my winter home is made. There I hold my southern court, Full of merriment and sport: There I take my ease and sing, Happy kingdom! Lucky king!

Far to southward lie the regions

Where my loyal flower-legions

Hold possession of the year,

Filling every month with cheer.

Christmas wakes the winter rose;

New Year daffodils unclose;

Yellow jasmine through the wood

Flows in February flood,

Dropping from the tallest trees

Golden streams that never freeze.

Thither now I take my flight

Down the pathway of the night,

Till I see the southern moon

Glisten on the broad lagoon,

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