We die, but there's life in the bowl,

Camerado, I pledge thee my soul!

WHISPER TO MY LOVE

WHISPER TO MY LOVE

Some golden fancy of thy clime—

Some glorious sound,

To breath around,

Of sweet breath thime

In orange grove,

When she may rove,

As wild and free,

As the Dryads be,

To tell her that I love her.

Some glorious fervor of thy being,

On golden sands

Of Orient strands;

And there is seeing

The classic grace

[Pg 26]

Of her proud race,

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