Sunned in the South, and here to-day; br    --If all organic things br Be sentient, Flowers, as some men say, br    What are your ponderings? br br How can you stay, nor vanish quite br    From this bleak spot of thorn, br And birch, and fir, and frozen white br    Expanse of the forlorn? br br Frail luckless exiles hither brought! br    Your dust will not regain br Old sunny haunts of Classic thought br    When you shall waste and wane; br br But mix with alien earth, be lit br    With frigid Boreal flame, br And not a sign remain in it br    To tell men whence you came.