Christmas in California (excerpt)

CAN this be Christmas—sweet as May,

With drowsy sun, and dreamy air,

And new grass pointing out the way

For flowers to follow, everywhere?

Has time grown sleepy at his post,

And let the exiled Summer back,

Or is it her regretful ghost,

Or witchcraft of the almanac?

……

Before me, on the wide, warm bay,

A million azure ripples run;

Round me the sprouting palm-shoots lay

Their shining lances to the sun.

With glossy leaves that poise or swing,

The callas their white cups unfold,

And faintest chimes of odor ring

From silver bells with tongues of gold.

A languor of deliciousness

Fills all the sea-enchanted clime;

And in the blue heavens meet, and kiss,

The loitering clouds of summer-time.