Classic Poem

With gentle finger touch the string,
Awake its murmurs soft and low
To celebrate the daintiest thing,
The daintiest that the earth can shew.

Where reigns eternal spring, O Tea!
O'er India's far, mysterious clime
Dost thou, thyself a mystery,
Consume thy days of blooming prime.

Wee lips of bees alone may dare
Sip honey from thy calix sweet;
Bright birds alone of plumage rare
Their songs of eulogy repeat.

When lovers haste to tell their love
Beneath thy shade in happy hours,
Thou gently dost thy branches move
And o'er them strewest fragrant flowers.

Thus on thy strange domestic strand
Thou growest, fed by sunshine fair;
Till here, in this far-distant land,
We learn at last thy nature rare.

For ladies fair and none beside,
Like mothers, keep thee safe from ill;
We watch them o'er the cups preside
Like nymphs that guard a sacred rill.

It scarce can e'er to men pertain
To know thy hidden powers aright;
Soft female lips alone may gain
Acquaintance with thy magic might.

Myself, thy poet, call thee rare,
Yet scarce thy wondrous powers perceive;
But all that female lips declare
With trust devout I aye believe!

Then gently touched, O sounding string,
In murmurs whisper, soft and low;
A woman's voice alone should sing
The daintiest thing that earth can shew.